r^ 


^U 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MANDRAGORA 


BOOKS  BY  JOHN  COWPER  POWYS 


The  War  and  Culture,  1914  .  . 
Visions  and  Revisions,  Essays  1915 
Wood  and  Stone,  a  Romance,  19 15 

Confessions,  19 16 

Wolf's-bane,  Rhymes,  1916  .  .  . 
One  Hundred  Best  Books,  1916  . 
RoDMOOR,  a  Romance,  1916  .  .  . 
Suspended  Judgments,  Essays,  1916 


$  .60 
2.00 

1-75 
1.50 
1.25 

.75 
1.50 
2.00 


Published  by  G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

GRAND  CENTRAL  TERMINAL,  NEW  YORK 


MANDRAGORA 

POEMS 


BY 

JOHN  COWPER  POWYS 


"  Give  me  to  drink  Mandragora  — " 

Antony  and  Cleopatra. 


1917 
G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,     I917.     BY 
G.   ARNOLD    SHAW 


Copyright  in  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies 


'3/ 
P?r7  'Via. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MARIAN  POWYS 

Oh  lace-maker,  what  joys,  what  fears 

Do  you  weave  into  your  thread  ? 
What  sorcery  from  the  far-off  years 

Hovers  above  your  head? 
Your  flickering  fingers  are  dipped  deep 

In  the  magic-flowing  stream. 
Is  there  a  sleep  beneath  this  sleep 

And  a  dream  beyond  this  dream? 


522555 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Flute-player ^ 

The  Cup 3 

The  Vigil 4 

Her  Love 5 

Wayfarers 7 

Episode 9 

Invocation lo 

The  Writer  . ^  ^ 

Blasphemy I2 

The  Flower ^3 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus i5 

The  Blood i7 

The  Wind I9 

Escape ^o 

The  Old  Cry 21 

Waiting 22 

A  Face 23 

The  Sea-bird 24 

At  the  End  of  the  World 25 

Night 26 

The  Daughter  of  the  Sphinx 27 

The  Little  Flame 28 

The  River 29 

Ave  Maria 30 

The  Recluse 32 

The  Leaves 33 

In  the  Night 34 

Requiem 35 

The  Traitor 36 

The  Tears 37 

Spring 38 


VIII  '  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A  Look 39 

The  Horizon 40 

Demeter  Consolatrix 42 

The  Golden  Cup 43 

The  Poplar-leaves 44 

The  Mist 45 

Optimism 46 

The  Appeal 47 

God 49 

Persephone 50 

The  Visitor 51 

War 52 

To  Lulu 54 

The  Oracle 55 

They  Say 56 

Over 57 

The  Willow-seeds 59 

Reversion 60 

For  Once 61 

The  Saturnian 63 

The  Hour 65 

Obsequies 65 

Accusation 66 

The  Monk 67 

Deserted 69 

Remorse 70 

To  Isadora  Duncan 71 

Travellers 72 

The  Dance 74 

Twilight 75 

The  Tune 76 

Reaction        77 

Saturn 78 

The  Shoes 83 

Eternity 84 

The  Mask 85 


CONTENTS  IX 


PAGE 

What  We  Say 86 

"Be  Hard!"        88 

Many  Waters -  90 

The  Bassarid 91 

The  Cry 93 

Renewal 94 

Understanding 96 

There  It  Is! 97 

Pax  Vobiscum 98 

The  Lane       99 

Condemned 100 

The  Rose-leaves 102 

The  Exile 104 

Mortmain 105 

First  and  Last 106 

Piety 107 

Evasion 108 

The  Gods 109 

The  Water iii 

The  Rose 112 

The  Wood 113 

The  Book       115 

Supreme  Unction 116 

A  Question 117 

Euthanasia 118 

A  Farewell 120 

The  Garden 122 

Nunc  Dimittis 124 

Moments 124 

Noon 125 

Lost 127 

Obsession 128 

Exiles 129 

Memory 130 

Nothing 131 

Whiteness 132 


X  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Silence '33 

Finis '34 

The  Grave '35 

The  Return '37 

The  Ship '3^ 


MANDRAGORA 


MANDRAGORA 


THE  FLUTE-PLAYER 

ONCE  I  saw  her.     'Twas  long  ago; 
From  the  bridge  of  a  dream-city. 
Drops  of  rain  were  falling  slow. 
It  was  autumn  and  long  ago; 
And  somewhere  in  the  fields  below 
A  flute-player  played  this  ditty  — 

One  look  and  never  the  same  again 

Are  the  roses  on  the  wall; 

One  look  and  forever  the  midnight  rain 

With  a  diff'erent  sound  must  fall. 

Gables  and  gardens,  roofs  and  towers, 

Hung  vague  and  rich  and  dim. 

From  somewhere  there  came  a  scent  of  flowers, 

And  a  wind  from  the  world's  rim; 

And  the  sun  sank  red  behind  the  towers, 

And  she  stood  and  looked  at  him. 

She  looked  at  him  from  a  closed  window, 
Then  at  me  did  she  look  down. 


THE     FLUTE-PLAYER 


It  was  autumn  and  very  long  ago, 

And  drops  of  rain  kept  falling  slow 

And  a  flute-player  played  on  his  flute  below, 

From  the  fields  below  the  town. 

And  now  they  have  told  me  so  constantly 

That  the  place  was  a  city  of  dreams. 

That  my  reason  beheves  it;   but  in  my  heart, 

In  my  heart  most  real  it  seems! 

And  thro'  town  and  country  I  still  must  go 

The  shadowy  roads  along, 

Seeing  always  that  closed  window 

And  hearing  that  flute-player's  song. 

And  when  the  sun  most  rich  and  dim 

Sinks  down  behind  dark  towers, 

And  there  comes  a  wind  from  the  world's  rim 

And  from  somewhere  a  scent  of  flowers  — 

I  stand  again  on  the  bridge  of  that  city 

And  hear  that  flute-player; 

And  my  Love  looks  down  on  me  in  pity, 

And  I  look  back  at  her. 

—  One  look  and  never  the  same  again 
Are  the  roses  on  the  wall; 
One  look  and  forever  the  midnight  rain 
With  a  diff"erent  sound  must  falll 


THE     CUP 


THE  CUP 

AH,  be  satisfied,  my  dear; 
There  is  none  but  you 
Who  can  hold  me  from  the  fair, 
Brimming,  glimmering,  lovely,  rare 
Cup  of  exquisite  despair, 
Cup  of  black  basalt  — 
Salter  than  the  sea  is  salt. 
Older  than  the  sea  is  old. 
Fuller  than  the  sea  is  full! 
I  have  cried,  "How  beautiful 
Is  that  cup!"  have  wept  and  cried, 
"It  is  full  of  heavenly  dew!" 
Ah,  my  dear,  be  satisfied; 
There  is  none  but  you. 


THE     VIGIL 


THE  VIGIL 

LET  the  huge  stars  roll  on! 
My  vigil's  kept. 
Love  Hes  his  grave  upon  — 

What  is  there  left? 
I  swore  to  guard  the  shrine 

Where  the  bright  candles  shine. 
Bread  is  bread,  wine  is  wine. 

Darkness  on  all  be  poured  1 
The  altar  has  no  God. 

Let  the  huge  stars  roll  on 

Space  beyond  space! 
Love  was;  and  love  is  gone. 

Cover  his  face! 
Let  the  great  gulfs  abhorred 

Take  it,  my  flaming  sword. 

Deep  below  deep! 
Hail,  thou  that  wast  my  Lord, 
I  have  kept  watch  and  ward  — 

Now  I  can  sleep. 


HER     LOVE 


HER  LOVE 

I  TOOK  the  love  you  threw  away 
When  the  moon  was  full; 
When  in  the  river  the  full  moon  lay 
And  the  river-reeds  were  hushed  in  their  play 

And  gave  their  souls  to  the  moon, 
And  whispered  and  cried,  "Ah,  well-awayl 
Today  must  turn  into  yesterday 
And  the  moon  must  wither  and  fade  away, 
The  beautiful  full  moon!" 

I  took  the  love  that  you  had  scorned. 
Where  it  lay  in  that  cold  reed-bed. 

Took  it  when  the  morning  dawned, 
Making  the  river  red. 

"Behold,  in  spite  of  her  bitter  scorn, 

In  spite  of  the  blood  spilt  by  the  dawn, 
That  love  is  mine,"  I  said. 

And  now  when  the  moon  is  old 
And  the  sun,  all  burning  gold. 

Scorches  the  city  street; 
Now  when  the  river  is  dried 
And  the  reeds  have  drooped  and  died, 

Your  love  is  a  fountain  sweet; 


HER     LOVE 


A  fountain  and  a  cup! 

And  the  wretchedest  and  the  worst 
Bless  God  as  they  drink  it  up, 

For  it  quenches  their  deepest  thirst. 
And  the  air  of  the  hottest  day 

Grows  cool  and  beautiful, 
Because  of  the  love  you  threw  away 

When  the  moon  was  full. 


WAYFARERS 


WAYFARERS 

THE  wind  is  very  cold! 
Does  it  blow  from  the  ultimate  sea, 
Or  over  cities  sad  and  old, 
Lost  beyond  memory?"  ' 
So  cried  my  heart  to  my  soul, 

As  it  shivered  by  its  side; 
But  "Follow  the  wind — -follow  the  wind!" 
My  soul  repHed. 

And  the  wind  led  them  on  and  on. 

Till  they  came  to  the  city  of  Dis; 
"Here  shall  we  rest!"  my  poor  heart  cried, 

"Here  shall  we  find  our  bhss; 
Behold,  this  is  great  Babylon! 

The  Heart's  Desire  is  this!" 
And  it  blessed  itself  and  blessed  my  soul 

With  a  wicked  heathen  kiss. 
So  cried  my  heart  to  my  soul. 

As  it  shivered  by  its  side. 
But  "Follow  the  wind  —  follow  the  wind!" 

My  soul  rephed. 

And  the  wind  led  them  on  and  on. 

Till  they  came  to  the  city  of  God. 

"Here  shall  we  rest!"  my  poor  heart  cried. 
And  tears  of  blood  it  poured. 

"On  these  streets  shine  the  sun  and  the  moon: 
The  City  of  God  is  this!" 


8  WAYFARERS 

And  it  blessed  itself  and  blessed  my  soul 

With  a  most  holy  kiss. 
So  cried  my  heart  to  my  soul, 

As  it  shivered  by  its  side. 
But  "Follow  the  wind  —  follow  the  windl" 

My  soul  rephed. 

And  the  wind  led  them  on  and  on 

Till  they  came  to  the  City  of  Dreams, 
To    the    place    where    the    king    called    "Might- 
have-been" 

Dwelleth  with  "Never-to-be,"  his  queen, 

And  all  is  as  it  seems. 
"Here  shall  we  rest!"  my  poor  heart  cried, 

"The  City  of  Dreams  is  this." 
And  it  blessed  itself  and  blessed  my  soul 

With  a  wistful  and  weeping  kiss. 
So  cried  my  heart  to  my  soul. 

As  it  shivered  by  its  side. 
But  "Follow  the  wind  —  follow  the  wind!" 

My  soul  replied. 

And  still  they  follow  and  follow. 

Beyond  each  ultimate  shore; 
And  Aldebaran  shines  behind  them 
And  Arcturus  shines  before. 
And  when  my  poor  heart  murmurs, 

"When  we  left  those  gates  we  sinned!" 
My  soul  thro'  the  darkness  answers  her  — 
"Follow  the  wind!" 


EPISODE 


EPISODE 

SO  now  that  all  is  over, 
And  it  does  not  greatly  matter 
How  long  the  same  roof  cover 

The  hope  that  perished  there, 
The  fleeting  hour  to  flatter. 

Now  that  it  afl  is  over, 
Forget  the  sad  word  lover. 
And  breathe  —  the  air,  the  air! 

Lean  down  and  watch  the  river 

Flow  fast  beneath  our  bridge; 
Watch  the  faint  grasses  quiver 

On  the  famihar  ridge. 
If  all  were  well  there  would  be 

No  diff"erence  in  the  dew, 
Nor  in  different  fashion  could  we 

Catch  the  horizon's  clue. 

A  sign,  a  symbol  captured 

From  the  eternal  flow! 
Stood  we  by  love  enraptured, 

What  more  could  either  know? 
Nothing!     Between  us  ever 

The  old  unfathomed  sea. 
Not  less  than  now  would  shiver 

With  its  bitter  mystery. 


10  INVOCATION 

So  now  that  all  is  over, 

Let  the  great  stars  emerge, 
Placid  and  calm,  and  cover 

The  sky  from  verge  to  verge  I 
The  deep  and  flowing  magic 

Of  the  universe  is  such, 
Comic  be  it,  or  tragic. 

It  does  not  matter  much! 

INVOCATION 

WHO  will  waken  the  wind  for  me? 
Who  will  waken  the  wind? 
The  night  is  loaded  with  misery; 
And  like  one  stricken  with  leprosy 

The  moon  has  sunk  in  the  sea. 
The  earth  is  heavy  as  if  it  had  sinned; 
Like  a  ghost  stands  every  tree. 

Who  will  waken  the  wind  for  me? 
Who  will  waken  the  wind? 


X 


THEWRITER  II 


THE  WRITER 

IN  the  shade  of  the  pyramids 
I  knelt  and  wrote  on  the  sand, 
While  with  softly  drooping,  veiled  hds, 
You  watched  in  the  shade  of  those  pyramids 
The  movements  of  my  hand. 

I  wrote  of  the  fall  of  Troy, 

I  wrote  of  the  Grecian  ships, 
I  wrote  of  Adonis  the  lovely  boy. 
And  of  winged  Psyche's  virgin  joy 

As  she  clung  to  Eros'  hps. 

I  wrote  of  the  Syrian  pearls. 

Of  Herod,  the  Jewish  king. 
I  wrote  of  Salome's  tossing  curls 
And  the  pale  Hps  sweeter  than  any  girl's, 

Of  her  blood-stained  offering. 

But  all  the  while  you  kept. 

Dark-lowered  your  veiled  hds. 
You  neither  laughed  nor  murmured  nor  wept; 
A  watcher  would  surely  have  dreamed  you  slept 

In  the  shade  of  those  pyramids. 

But  when  I  wrote  in  the  sand 

A  httle  unlegended  name, 

A  human  unhistoried  name. 
With  a  bitter  cry  and  uphfted  hand 
You  rose  and  over  that  famished  land, 

Fled  away  like  a  flame. 


12  BLASPHEMY 


BLASPHEMY 

0  FAIRY  form,  O  flower-like  face, 
O  piteous  tender  breast, 
Why  did  you  come  with  your  childish  grace 
And  trouble  my  heart's  rest? 

The  tide,  my  darhng,  is  bitter  and  deep 

That  washes  that  cruel  shore. 
The  happy  lovers  are  those  that  sleep 

And  love  not  any  more. 

Calm  filmy  dreams  thro'  each  tired  head 

Flow  softly,  mingle  and  flow. 
The  happy  lovers  are  those  that  are  dead. 

That  died  full  long  ago. 

0  child,  forgive  me;   I  he,  I  lie 
With  an  evil  blasphemy! 

1  he  to  the  clouds  in  the  air  above! 
I  he  to  the  earth  and  the  sea! 

The  hving,  the  hving  must  worship  love! 
The  dead,  the  dead  must  be. 


THEFLOWER  13 


THE  FLOWER 

I  COULD  not  see  at  that  hour, 
I  tell  you,  I  could  not  seel 
The  face  of  the  night  was  wet 
And  there  was  rain  on  the  wind. 
Oh,  misery  —  oh,  regret! 
Bhnd!  Bhnd!  Bhnd!  Bhnd! 
I  tell  you,  I  could  not  see. 
There  was  too  much  rain  on  the  wind 
When  I  stooped  and  picked  that  flower. 

I  hold  it  now  in  my  hand, 

As  the  moon  thro'  the  branches  peers, 

Wickedly,  wantonly  peers. 
But  now  it  is  too  late. 
And  its  petals  desolate 

Droop  and  lose  their  power. 

And  I  see  that  this  murdered  flower 
Would  have  changed  the  course  of  my  fate. 

And  now,  oh  wanton  moon. 

As  you  flicker  thro'  boughs  where  the  rains 
Drip  to  a  fitful  tune, 

I  see  on  that  flower  the  veins 
Of  a  dehcate-pencilled  rune, 

A  hope  that  no  longer  remains. 


14  THEFLOWER 


Oh  moonl  if  only  it  grew 

Still  living,  still  tender  and  free, 
Oh  wanton  moon,  I  would  laugh  at  you; 

Nor  bitterly  wander  the  forest  thro', 
While  the  rain  drips  sadly  from  tree  to  tree, 

Cursing  the  cause  of  my  misery, 

The  bhndness — the  bhndness — that  ruined  me! 


VENI     CREATOR     SPIRITUS  I5 


VENI  CREATOR  SPIRITUS 

MY  strength  is  shifting  sand;   the  waters 
Of  jealousy  meet  over  my  head; 
I  am  scorned  and  scourged  by  Satan's  daughters; 

And  crucified  on  a  salt  sea  bed. 
I  have  prayed  to  the  gods.     Oh,  little  the  use! 
Thou,  greater  than  God,  descend  on  me. 
Thou  breath  of  the  deep  world,  set  me  free. 
Blow  from  your  primal  eternity. 
Veni  Creator  Spiritus! 

My  strength  is  trodden  dust.     The  claw 

Of  envy  tears  me  day  and  night, 
And  the  tawny  lion  of  "Nevermore" 

Eats  my  heart  for  his  dehght. 
Oh,  calm  cool  breath,  your  floodgates  loose! 

Oh,  breath  of  the  deep  world,  set  me  free. 

Oh,  greater  than  God,  descend  on  me. 

Blow  from  your  primal  eternity. 
Veni  Creator  Spiritus! 

My  strength  is  the  dregs  of  poured-out  wine. 

The  dry  ground  drinks  me.     The  poison-flower 
Grows  fat  with  me.     The  root  mahgn 

Of  the  night-shade  waits  its  baleful  hour. 
Life  is  too  bitter.     "I  could  not  choose 

But  weep  to  see  another  thus." 

O  breath  from  beyond  the  land  and  sea, 

O  calm  and  cool  eternity. 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus! 


l6  VENI     CREATOR     SPIRITUS 


My  strength  is  smouldering  ashes.       The   molten 
stream 

Of  love  consumes  me;  all  day  and  night  I  waste 
Burning  from  fever-dream  to  fever-dream, 

My  parched  mouth  full  of  the  dead-sea  taste. 
O  air,  O  breath,  give  what  the  gods  refuse! 

O  depths  beyond  all  depths,  have  pity  on  me! 

O  space  beyond  all  spaces,  set  me  free. 

Blow  from  your  calm  and  cool  eternity. 
Veni  Creator  Spiritus! 


THEBLOOD  I7 


THE  BLOOD 

I    FOUND  bright  drops  of  purple  blood 
Beside  a  dying  faun. 
A  mushroom-cup  had  caught  that  flood 
From  the  brown  body  torn. 

I  took  the  blood  and  went  apart 

With  her  whose  love  I  killed. 
"Take  this  and  fill  with  it  your  heart, 

In  place  of  what  I  spilled!" 

She  looked  at  me  out  of  her  pain  — 

Sweet  saints,  on  my  death-bed 
Let  me  not  see  that  look  again! 

Then  lightly,  lightly  she  said  — 

"I  take  that  blood.     When  we  shall  meet," 
And  she  gave  me  her  mouth  to  kiss  — 

"At  the  White  Christ's  golden  judgment  seat, 
I  will  lie  to  him  of  this. 

"I  will  lie  to  him,  the  great  White  Christ, 

About  the  love  you  killed. 
I  will  say  the  brown  faun's  blood  sufficed 

In  place  of  what  you  spilled." 

Softly  she  turned  and  left  me  there. 
And  I  was  left  alone; 


l8  THEBLOOD 


And  her  voice  came  faintly  upon  the  air, 
"A  faun's  blood  shall  atone!" 

But  from  where  she  left  me  I  did  not  move, 

And  never  yet  have  moved. 
For  I  am  he  that  murdered  love, 

And  yet  am  I  not  loved? 


T  H  E     W  I  N  D  19 


THE  WIND  "[ 

THE  night  Is  sobbing  and  crying  with  rain, 
And  the  wind  is  drifting  among  the  trees; 
Drifting  and  whispering  to  me  again 
Of  the  memories  —  of  the  memories! 

Like  a  phantom  sea  is  the  drifting  wind; . 

Flowing  towards  us,  ebbing  apart; 
The  merciless  wind  without  a  heart! 

Like  a  phantom  sea  is  the  drifting  wind. 

And  my  memories  tear  me  away  from  you; 

And  your  memories  tear  you  away  from  me; 
While  the  wind  goes  wailing  between  us  two, 

The  drifting  wind,  hke  a  phantom  sea. 

Oh  hollow  spaces,  oh  midnight  springs! 

Oh  deep  night- valleys  wet  with  the  rain! 
Lure,  lure  this  wind  to  fold  up  its  wings 

And  bury  our  memories  again! 

Then  I  would  forget,  and  you  would  forget; 

And  beneath  the  sleeping  wind 
We  would  pray  to  the  darkness,  and  watch  regret 
Drift  away  o'er  the  pastures  wet, 

Till  silence  healed  our  mind. 


20  ESCAPE 


ESCAPE 

DEEP  pools  there  are,  pools  quiet  and  still, 
Far  off,  where  none  of  them  guess; 
Beyond  the  peaks  of  the  world's  last  hill 

And  the  desert's  lonehness. 
But  all  about  the  edge  of  those  pools 
Flutter  hke  troubled  birds, 
The  Httle  gestures  you  used  to  use, 

And  your  Hght,  forgotten  words. 
And  when  the  moon  from  the  purple  sky 
Makes  signs  to  the  silent  grass. 
Those  pools  grow  charged  with  your  memory, 

And  I  see  your  image  pass. 
I  see  you  not  as  you  really  are, 
But  pale  as  the  lately  dead, 
With  a  faint  marsh-flame  hke  a  fallen  star 

Fhckering  above  your  head. 

0  wild  white  cheeks,  O  scarlet  mouth! 
Is  my  heart's  deep  whisper  true 

That  beyond  the  peaks  of  the  world's  last  hill, 

1  can  flee  the  human  race  at  my  will 
And  yet  cannot  escape  from  you? 


THEOLDCRY  21 


THE  OLD  CRY 

IF  only  ages  ago 
I  had  buried  my  restless  heart 
Under  mountains  of  snow 
In  a  lonely  place  apart, 
I  could  bring  it  now  to  her, 
Locked  with  a  silver  key; 
And  its  shadowy  pearls  would  never  stir 
From  that  sweet  sanctuary. 

Oh  wind  that  wafted  my  boat 

To  the  isles  where  the  Sirens  sing, 
Somewhere  —  washed  up  upon  sands  remote 

Those  pearls  he  ghtterlng. 
Gather  them,  gather  them  up, 

Oh  wind,  and  bring  them  to  me 
In  a  misty  foam-wreathed  cup  — 

The  pearls  that  I  lost  in  the  sea. 

Dim  with  the  salt  are  they, 

Blurred  and  bleached  with  the  sun; 
But,  gathered  from  far  away. 

Bring  them  back,  every  one; 
That  Iain  once  more  at  rest 

Where  her  heart  beats  and  feels. 
They  may  sleep  forever  against  her  breast, 

Sealed  with  a  thousand  seals! 


22  WAITING 


WAITING 

THE  flowerless  weeds  along  the  tangled  hedge 
Listen  and  wait. 
The  willow-bushes  by  the  water's  edge 

Listen  and  wait. 
Under  the  earth  I  feel  the  roots  of  trees 

Listening,  waiting. 
Oh  Earth,  oh  Sky,  oh  secret  hope  of  these  I 
Is  it  worth  waiting? 

So  sinks  my  heart's  faint  whisper  hopelessly, 

Sinks  and  is  gone; 
While  the  round  earth  sweeps  weeds  and  willows 
and  me 

Carelessly  on; 
And  morning  becomes  noon,  noon  becomes  niglit 

In  the  same  doubt. 
No  answer,  not  a  word;   till  one  by  one 

The  stars  come  out. 

And  then  —  but  not  from  them,  for  they  too  wait, 
Ah,  they  wait  too,  the  stars!  —  but  from  the  night, 
The  night  itself,  oldest  of  all  the  gods. 

The  answer! 
And  all  the  flowerless  weeds  and  the  willows  and  I 
Listen  —  hear  nothing  —  yet  are  satisfied. 
Portions  of  that  Night  we  know  ourselves  to  be; 
Children  of  the  oldest  of  ail  the  gods  are  we, 
And    from    ourselves    we    hide    our    own    hearts' 
mystery! 


A     F  A  C  E  23 


A  FACE 


IF  I  could  only  pass 
Into  that  ultimate  later  time 

Where  the  solemn  planets  cease  to  climb, 
And  one  unruffled  sea  of  glass 

Breaks  on  the  sand  with  monotonous  fall, 

Calls  to  the  land  with  continuous  call, 
Breaks  and  ebbs  and  flows  and  drifts, 
While  its  endless  motion  hfts 

The  grey-cold  tops  of  unearthly  reeds 
And  marge  to  desolate  marge  succeeds. 

With  never  the  trunk  of  a  single  tree; 
If  I  could  only  see 

The  face  of  the  wind  in  that  ultimate  place, 
I  think  it  would  be  less  heavy  with  dreams, 

Less  heavy  with  dreams  of  sea-weeds  drifting. 

Less  heavy  with  dreams  of  reed-tops  Hfting, 

Than  the  human  face  of  one  I  know! 
If  I  could  only  go 

Into  that  passionless  later  time 
Where  long  sea-memories  rock  hke  rhyme. 

And  the  sun  and  moon  forever  set. 

Tinge  all  with  eternal  violet. 
The  face  of  the  wind  in  that  ultimate  spot 

Where  all  is  equal  and  nothing  forgot, 
Would  have  the  look  of  a  face  I  know 
Or  dreamed  long  ago  that  I  know  — 

Heavy  with  joy  —  heavy  with  woe! 


o> 


24  THESEA-BIRD 


THE  SEA-BIRD 

YOU  saw  my  heart  as  it  lay 
Like  a  Iiushed  rock-pool,  aside 
From  the  ocean's  wind-tossed  spray. 
And  you  were  hurt  in  your  pride. 

And  the  wild  sea-bird  in  you 

Rose  and  spread  out  its  wings, 
And  flapping  down  over  chfl"  and  ledge. 
Lighted  upon  that  rock-pool's  edge 

And  troubled  it  thro'  and  thro'. 

And  now  that  its  depths  are  dim 
And  heavy  and  blurred  and  bhnd, 

Over  the  purple  waves  you  skim 

And  bathe  in  the  sun  and  make  sport  for  him, 
And  give  yourself  to  the  wind. 

A  flashing  meteor  of  pearl, 

You  laugh  and  waver  and  dart  — 
In  silver  circles  you  gleam  and  whirl, 
A  rainbow,  a  sea-bird,  a  demon  —  a  girl 
Who  has  flown  across  a  heart. 


AT     THE     END     OF     THE     WORLD  25 


X 


AT  THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD 

THE  patient  earth,  the  breathless  trees, 
Have  hstened  here  for  centuries. 
Have  listened  under  the  silver  moon 
To  this  little  streamlet's  flowing. 
Hearing  nothing  in  its  going 

Save  its  own  enchanted  tune. 

Oh,  how  silent  on  moss  and  stone 

Sleeps  the  whole  world's  bitter  wrong! 

While  the  shadow  of  love,  lying  alone. 
Listens  to  the  streamlet's  song. 

At  the  end  of  the  world  this  place  might  be! 

So  hushed  are  the  shadows,  so  hushed  the  grass; 
So  hushed  are  the  hemlocks  of  mystery, 

Waiting  for  feet  that  never  pass! 

Listen!  A  voice  out  of  the  night! 

A  voice  from  the  silence  —  a  passionate  cry  — 
Beautiful,  terrible,  infinite! 

The  voice  of  a  god  who  comes  to  die. 

And  the  patient  earth  and  the  breathless  trees 
Turn  to  that  voice;  and  the  hstening  air 

Yearns  to  it,  thro'  the  immensities. 
As  tho'  God  Himself  were  dying  there. 


26  NIGHT 

Only  the  little  streamlet  flows 

Beneath  the  hemlocks,  beneath  the  moon; 
Hearing  nothing  as  it  goes, 

Save  its  own  enchanted  tune. 

And  silent,  silent,  on  moss  and  stone. 
Sleeps  the  whole  world's  bitter  wrong; 

While  the  shadow  of  love,  lying  alone, 
Listens  to  the  streamlet's  song. 


NIGHT 


/ 


ALONE  again!    And  the  silence  flows 
Round  the  windows  of  this  place. 
The  night  is  starless  and  heavy  and  close, 
Rain-scented  like  a  drooping  rose; 
And  on  the  night  floats  your  face. 

It  does  not  smile,  it  does  not  frown. 
It  does  not  laugh,  it  does  not  weep; 
It  only  rocks  itself  up  and  down. 
Floating,  as  if  on  the  waves  of  sleep. 

Like  a  drooping  rose  is  your  dreamy  face 
With  the  starless  night  about  it  furled; 
And  infinite  silence  fills  the  place. 
And  there  is  nothing  else  in  the  world. 


THE     DAUGHTER     OF     THE       SPHINX     27 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SPHINX 

MY  mind  is  a  plain  with  blackened  stalks 
And  the  crumbling  stones  of  a  buried  city, 
Where  hooded  desolation  walks, 
And  all  alone  in  an  empty  sky 
A  sohtary  kite  sails  by. 
But  yet,  because  of  the  sudden  pity 
Of  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  sphinx, 
Great  Amnion  on  my  burden  winks 
And  I  have  found  —  ah,  none  too  soon! 
A  Httle  pallid  petalled  flower. 
Hid  in  the  dust  of  a  fallen  tower. 
With  a  phantom  lustre  hke  the  moon; 
And  now  I  can  watch  the  kite  sail  by, 
And  the  long,  long  shadows  among  the  stones, 
And  the  blackened  stalks  and  the  empty  sky, 
And  the  wind-blown  dust  of  ancient  bones. 
With  strange  exultant  serenity, 
And  across  that  plain  which  is  my  soul, 
Soft  incense-clouds  of  healing  roll 
With  balm,  and  the  breath  of  a  whispered  spell, 
And  an  opiate-rain  ineffable. 
For  on  him  whose  mind  is  scarred  deep. 
With  secrets  sad  as  the  dead  who  sleep. 
On  him  whose  soul  is  a  buried  city. 
The  daughter  of  the  sphinx  has  pity. 


28  THE     LITTLE     FLAME 

> 

THE  LITTLE   FLAME 

TRAMPLE  it  fiercely  down, 
It  will  not  burn  your  feet. 
The  little  flame  that  your  savage  frown 

Hated  as  it  went  up  and  down, 
Because  it  had  no  heat. 

Trample  it  in  the  dust! 

It  only  carries  in  it 
The  far  horizon  of  one  hope, 

One  faith,  one  trust,  one  horoscope, 
Cast  by  one  fatal  minute. 

Press  your  heel  hard  on  it  there. 

You  know  it  cannot  burn. 
It  can  only  answer  a  hurt  hfe's  prayer. 

With  an  ecstasy  dehcate  as  air, 
That  you  have  yet  to  learn. 

Look!    It  still  licks  the  ground. 

Out  with  it!    Turn  it  to  clay! 
The  wind  will  blow  with  its  ancient  sound. 

When  that  flame  is  buried  underground 
And  you  have  gone  your  way. 

No,  it  never  had  heat, 

Love  sometimes  shows  that  lack! 
But  you  —  you  have  spurned  beneath  your  feet, 

What  one  day,  weary  of  wine  and  meat. 
In  vain  you'll  summon  back. 


THERIVER  29 


A  pale  flame,  after  your  fierce  sunsets! 

Yet  the  Spring  came  at  its  call, 
Bringing  windflovvers  and  pansies  and  violets, 

And  the  rosemary  that  has  no  regrets 
And  lasts  the  longest  of  all. 

Pray,  child,  to  the  gods  that  when  you've  found 

What  the  heats  of  passion  prove. 
You  sob  not  aloud  with  a  piteous  sound. 

Over  the  plot  of  trampled  ground, 
Wherein  you  murdered  love. 


THE  RIVER 

THE  palHd  river  of  regret. 
Flows  thro'  that  empty  land; 
The  land  you  call  my  heart,  where  yet 

The  poplar-trees  of  memory,  wet 
With  ancient  sorrow,  stand. 

And  mournfully,  mournfully  evermore 
Thro'  those  trees  the  wind  goes  wailing. 

And  like  wreckage  strewn  on  a  lonely  shore, 
Where  no  man  dwells  and  nevermore 

Shall  any  ship  come  sailing. 
The  dead  leaves  lie  where  they  have  fallen. 

Lie  on  the  land  where  they  have  fallen, 
The  land  where  the  roots  of  sorrow  are  set. 
The  land  of  the  river  of  regret. 


30  AVEMARIA 


AVE   MARIA 

HOLLOW  spaces,  large  and  deep. 
Flow  around  your  quiet  sleep. 
One  would  think  your  dreaming  head 
Had  eternity  for  its  bed! 
Oh,  how  green,  for  all  the  night. 
Is  the  floating  liquid  air. 
Full  of  whispers,  full  of  light. 
Vague  earth  murmurs  everywhere! 

Listen!     Did  you  hear  that  sound 
In  your  eyelid-drooping  sleep, 
FalHng  thro'  the  listening  night, 
FaUing,  falling?    And  the  earth 
Melts  in  vaporous  mist  before  it, 
Melts  as  if  from  very  birth 
It  had  watched  and  waited  for  it! 
Listen! 

'Tis  a  petal  from  the  moon 

From  that  cold  and  chaste  moon-flower. 

Flung  in  languid  lotus  hour. 

Like  a  thought  after  a  tune; 

Like  a  tune  after  a  thought, 

Sweet  with  ecstasy  unsought! 

And  all  other  lovely  things. 

Such  as  shadow-veined  moth-wings. 

Such  as  shells  from  drifting  seas. 

Such  as  wild  anemones, 


AVE     MARIA  31 


Float  with  it  thro'  hollow  space, 
Dark  against  your  white,  white  face, 
Float  and  flutter  and  waver  now, 
Pale  against  your  shadowy  brow! 
Listen! 

Ah!    You  are  listening  deep  and  deep, 

And  you  stir  at  last  in  your  quiet  sleep, 

Fafl  the  petals  of  the  moon 

To  their  soft  eternal  tune, 

Thro'  the  green  and  hollow  night. 

All  transparent  tender  things 

From  their  cold  creative  springs 

FaH,  fall  down  into  the  night. 

With  a  tremulous  shy  dehght. 

Listen! 

Ave  Maria! 

The  heart  must  be  pierced  with  a  sharp  sword, 

That  would  be  the  heart  of  the  mother  of  God ! 


32  THERECLUSE 


THE  RECLUSE 

WHY  do  you  live  in  shadows  and  sighs, 
'Mid  waving  grasses  and  faint,  faint  scents 
'Mid  floating  murmurs  and  mysteries, 
And  the  ghosts  of  roses?    Arise!     Go  hence! 

"Go  hence  and  wrestle  beneath  the  sun! 

Go  hence  and  live  before  you  die! 
For  laurels,  not  roses,  the  race  is  run. 

In  the  great  arena  under  the  sky. 

"Go  hence!     Or  my  God,  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

Will  put  it  into  my  heart  to  smite 
You  and  your  roses  that  smell  hke  ghosts 

Into  the  everlasting  night!" 

"Smite  on,  dear  heart.     The  eternal  night 
Will  cover  me  with  shadows  and  sighs; 

And,  Hke  one  great  rose,  the  Infinite 
Will  hide  me  forever  from  your  eyes!" 


THELEAVES  33 

THE  LEAVES 

THE  first  dead  leaves  of  the  year  are  down! 
Look,  how  pale  they  float, 
Under  the  bridge  of  the  market-town 

By  wharf  and  barge  and  boat! 
How  cold  the  rain-drenched  meadows  lie, 

Heavy  with  mist  each  one! 
And  the  elm-trees  stand  how  silently 
Against  the  horizon! 

Oh,  Love,  oh,  Life,  most  strange,  most  bhnd 

Are  our  days  beneath  the  sun! 
A  leaf  on  the  water;  on  the  wind 

A  feather  —  and  all  is  done. 
The  market-town  still  sleeps  —  Sweet  Christ, 

How  motionless  it  seems! 
As  if  one  night  of  rain  sufficed 

To  cover  it  with  dreams. 

Can  it  be  only  yesterday. 

On  this  same  bridge  I  stood. 
And  watched  the  red  sun  sink  away 

Behind  a  fairy  wood? 
The  gods  protect  us  all!    So  soon 

Can  summer  cease?     So  light 
Can  they  drift,  the  leaves  that  played  love's  tune? 

Can  the  world  end  in  a  night? 


34  INTHENIGHT 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

A  CRY  like  a  child's  cry  lost  in  the  rain 
Came  to  me  out  of  the  mist. 
I  rose  and  answered  that  cry  again, 

But  it  went  sobbing  over  the  plain 
And  died  into  the  mist. 

And  where  it  had  been  came  the  scent  of  flowers 

Out  of  a  world's  distress, 
With  a  moan  of  gathered  thunder-showers 

And  a  gasping  lonehness. 

And  the  gods  with  their  faces  wet  with  crying, 

The  old  gods  strange  and  wild, 
Swept  out  upon  us  across  the  night, 

And  —  oh  mystery,  mystery  infinite! 
The  gods  and  the  weeping  child  and  I 

Laughed  and  kissed  in  ecstasy! 


REQUIEM  35 


REQUIEM 

WHERE,  oh  where,  should  love  be  laid? 
Where  the  sigh  of  the  heather-bell, 
To  the  wandering  wind  can  tell, 
Tell  too  heavily,  tell  too  well. 
How  human  hearts  are  made! 

Lift  him  gently  from  where  he  hes 

So  pale  now! 
With  frozen  kisses  upon  his  eyes. 

And  faded  petals  upon  his  brow. 
Carry  him  gently  far  away, 
And  bury  him  out  of  the  sight  of  day, 

Where  neither  sun  nor  rain 

Can  trouble  him  again. 
We  have  killed  him  and  love  grown  cold 
Is  better  buried  under  the  mould. 

Where,  oh  where,  should  love  be  laid. 

Where  the  lost  soul  of  the  sea 

Moans  and  weeps  perpetually. 
Where  the  cold  night  cries  in  vain 
For  what  cannot  come  again. 

Where,  oh  where,  should  love  be  laid? 

Where  the  sigh  of  the  sea-shell. 

To  the  sobbing  wind  can  tell. 
Tell  too  heavily,  tell  too  well. 

How  cruel-faithless,  how  cruel-light. 

While  love  lies  dying  in  the  night, 
Human  hearts  are  made. 


36  THETRAITOR 


THE  TRAITOR 

JUDAS  am  I,  or  Peter, 
Or  am  I  only  one 
Set  by  malicious  destiny 

Between  the  moon  and  sun? 

Silver  upon  the  land! 

Silver  upon  the  sea! 
A  world  of  silver  in  my  hand  — 

And  my  Love  looking  at  me. 

It  is  not  only  the  Lord, 

Who  in  the  high  priest's  hall, 
Looks  on  the  man  who  can  betray, 
Till  bitterly  weeping,  he  turns  away, 
Too  common  grows  that  word. 

Put  out  the  altar-hght! 

Let  no  wine  redden  the  floor. 
Cover  that  lovely  face  from  sight! 
Let  me  go  forth  into  the  night, 

And  see  that  look  no  more. 

Silver  upon  the  land! 

Silver  upon  the  sea! 
A  world  of  silver  in  my  hand  — 

And  my  Love  looking  at  me! 


THETEARS  37 


THE  TEARS 

WHERE,  oh  wind,  do  you  carry  the  tears 
That  the  muffled  heads  are  weeping, 
Under  the  roofs  where  no  one  hears, 
While  the  Lord  Christ  is  sleeping? 

"Cold  he  lies  in  the  reeds  of  the  dawn, 

But  I  carry  them  to  him  there. 
Where  far  away  from  the  world's  scorn 

They  gleam  hke  dew  on  his  hair. 

"The  tears  that  are  shed  for  loneliness 

Like  pearls  on  his  forehead  rest. 
And  the  tears  of  passionate  distress 

Are  opals  on  his  breast. 

"But  where,  oh  wind,  are  the  hopeless  tears  — 

The  tears  no  comfort  know  — 
The  tears  that  none  but  the  midnight  hears  — 

The  tears  of  love's  deep  woe? 

"Tell  me,  oh  wind,  ere  you  depart. 
On  his  white  body  where  are  they?" 

"Ah!     They  are  in  the  Lord  Christ's  heart 
And  none  can  take  them  from  him  away!" 


38  SPRING 


SPRING 

PAIN  and  spilt  blood  and  an  appalling  cry 
Turn    the   earth's  air   to  poison    and    make 
bitter 
The  bread  we  eat  and  lay  across  our  sleep 
A  quivering  shadow  hke  a  gash  that  bleeds. 
We  laugh  and  are  ashamed  as  those  who  mock 
An  open  grave. 

And  yet  the  wet  stalks  of  the  hyacinths 
Must  soon,  amid  green  spears,  bear  purple  flowers! 
And    yet,    from    rain-soaked    earth    and    crumpled 

leaves, 
The  yellow  primrose,  with  a  sweet  swift  pang. 
Must  send  Spring's  perilous  breath,  sharp-shudder- 
ing 
With  faint  and  dehcate  treachery,  thro'  our  veins! 
Shall    we    henceforth    before    these    hushed    wood- 
things 
Stand  dazed  and  shamed?     Or  shall  we  in  strange 

mood 
Laugh  weeping  laughter,  as  those  laugh  who  hear 
Infants  make  holiday  upon  a  grave? 
Softly  with  pungent  scent  of  fields  fresh-ploughed 
The  small  soft  misty  rain  through  dripping  boughs 
Washes  the  crumbhng  roots  of  fallen  trees; 
Red-Campion  droops  his  petals  to  the  earth; 
While,  wild  and  clear,  from  liquid  rain-sweet  throat. 
As  though  no  graves  covered  the  green  earth's  face, 
Bursts,  as  of  old,  the  blackbird's  shameless  song. 


A     L  O  O  K  39 


A  LOOK 

I  WOULD  not  stop  you  on  your  way; 
I  would  not  bind  your  feet; 
Or  on  your  shining  forehead  lay 

One  shadow  of  defeat. 
Go  fonvard  —  if  you  turn,  the  crowd 

Might  trample  you  with  me. 
Let  the  flute-players  play  more  loud 

And  the  dancers  dance  more  free  I 
But  once  before  the  palace  gate 

Rolls  back  and  I'm  bereft  — 
Turn  and  look  on  me;  and  if  fate 

Has  any  pity  left, 
A  passing  mist  upon  your  eyes 
Will  redeem  every  sacrifice. 


40  THEHORIZON 


THE  HORIZON 


// 


PALE  trees  on  the  horizon  grow, 
Pale,  faint  and  dim  and  grey  — 
Can  they  be  real  trees?     They  flow 

Into  the  mist  away. 
Between  us  the  valleys  are  green  and  wide, 
But  what  is  beyond  on  the  other  side? 

Beyond  I  see  a  wooden  pier, 

Stretching  into  a  shadowy  lake. 
And  a  sudden  cry  of  wild-fowl  I  hear 

As  over  the  reeds  their  flight  they  take. 
Over  the  reeds  and  far  away 
Beyond  the  trees,  dim,  pale  and  grey; 

A  wooden  pier  —  a  shadowy  pond. 

But  what  is  beyond?    What  is  beyond? 

Beyond  there  is  a  long,  long  road. 
Bordered  by  ditches  dark  and  wide. 

Where  a  wayfarer  with  a  heavy  load 
Talks  to  the  silence  at  his  side. 

Talks  to  the  silence  and  talks  to  the  trees. 

But  what  is  beyond,  beyond  all  these? 

Beyond  is  a  house  with  a  ruined  wall, 

Where  the  long  road  enters  an  ancient  wood. 

And  its  rafters  rot  and  sink  and  fall, 
And  nothing  disturbs  its  solitude. 


THEHORIZON  4I 

Only  a  heron,  high  up  in  the  sky, 

Cries  with  a  melancholy  cry; 

Cries  to  the  house,  to  the  road  and  the  trees, 
Cries  to  the  wayfarer  passing  these; 

Between  us  the  valleys  are  green  and  wide, 

But  what  is  beyond  —  on  the  other  side? 

Pale  trees  on  the  horizon  grow, 

Pale,  faint  and  dim  and  grey. 
Can  they  be  real  trees?     They  flow 

Into  the  mist  away! 
Beyond  and  beyond,  and  further  still, 
Beyond,  till  we  cross  the  world's  last  hill  — 
So  it  goes.     So  it  ahvays  will! 


42  DEMETER     CONSOLATRIX 


DEMETER  CONSOLATRIX 

TROUBLED  heart  cand  fevered  forehead 
Ah!    with  calm  immortal  hand 
Soon  the  mother  of  all  shall  take  you 

To  a  green  and  silent  land. 
Great  red  Hhes  hushed  and  splendid 

Shall  be  lamps  to  Hght  your  dreams, 
And  your  sleep  shall  be  attended 
By  the  flow  of  hidden  streams. 

Large  mild  stars  shall  shine  above  you, 

Cool  deep  grass  your  bed  shall  be. 
With  the  mother  of  all  to  love  you. 

You  shall  lose  your  misery. 
She  shall  quench  your  forehead's  fire 

With  her  calm  immortal  hand; 
You  shall  have  your  heart's  desire 

In  that  green  and  silent  land. 
From  the  great  red  lilies'  splendour, 

From  the  large  mild  stars  shall  fall 
Magic  wonderful  and  tender, 

And  the  mother  of  all  shall  give  you  alll 


THEGOLDENCUP  43 


THE  GOLDEN  CUP 

LOVELY  with  memories  surging  up, 
From  a  fount  beneath  the  years, 
This  Hght  spring  day  like  a  golden  cup. 
Holds  something  deeper  than  tears. 

Misty  and  tender,  beneath,  above. 

The  green,  green  sap  flows  sweet. 
And  beyond  the  mountains  waits  my  Love, 

With  daisies  at  her  feet. 

Is  it  I,  is  it  I,  whom  love  has  found? 

No!   No!    It  cannot  be! 
I  have  lost  my  sense  for  such  heavenly  sound 

And  my  ear  for  such  harmony. 

Who  am  I  that  such  hquid  and  tender  mist 
From  the  green,  green  trees  should  rise? 

Who  am    I    to    be  welcomed    and    healed    and 
kissed 
By  the  wonder  of  such  skies? 

Not  unto  me,  oh.  Lord,  not  unto  me. 

This  lovely  and  golden  day! 
Take  it  and  scatter  it  abroad 

Over  the  land  and  sea! 

Let  it  float  and  flicker,  this  heaven-sent  light, 
Where  the  saddest  wanderers  roam; 

Till  the  heaUng  dews  fall  with  the  night, 
And  the  lost  return  to  their  home! 


44  THE     POPLAR-LEAVES 


THE  POPLAR-LEAVES 

WHY  do  they,  all  of  them,  lean  one  way. 
The  poplar-leaves  of  your  heart's  sad  tree? 

Why  do  they  shiver  and  tremble  so 

When  the  wild  sea-winds  have  ceased  to  blow 

And  the  wild  sea-swallows  have  flown  away 

From  the  edge  of  the  bitter  and  lonely  sea? 

If  I  call  them  to  me  from  over  the  hill  — 
The  other  swallows  —  the  swallows  that  fly 
O'er  the  cool,  frcsli  streams  of  a  clearer  sky  — 

Would  those  leaves  lean  the  same  way  still? 

Ah!   they  must  all  of  them  lean  one  way 

Whatever  wind  the  other  follows, 

However  swiftly  fly  the  swallows; 
For  the  sea-born  can  only  the  sea  obey. 

But  if  from  the  sea  itself  should  blow  — 
From  the  sea  itself,  from  the  lonely  sea, 

A  strange  new  wind;   then  I  should  know,  — 
And  —  perhaps  —  those  leaves  would  turn  to  me  I 


T  H  E     M  I  S  T  45 


THE  MIST 

IN  and  out  of  the  mist 
We  waver,  ghosts  that  we  are! 
And  the  hands  and  hps  we  have  kissed 

Beckon  us  from  afar: 
Beckon  us,  whisper  us,  cry  to  us. 

In  and  out  of  the  mist; 
Mock  us,  elude  us,  fly  from  us; 

The  hands  and  hps  we  have  kissed. 

In  and  out  of  the  mist,  hke  ghosts 

We  waver  along  the  shore. 
Flickering  phantom-hosts, 

Lost  evermore  —  evermore! 
Whispering,  beckoning,  sighing, 

Weeping,  vexing  the  night. 
Nothing  can  stop  our  crying. 

Except  red  burning  light! 


Ghosts  in  the  mist  are  we, 

And  ghosts  are  the  planets  who  peer 
And  peep  at  our  misery. 

With  their  tender  pitiful  leer; 
But  the  great  vermihon  sun 

That  in  one  moment's  blaze 
Could  melt,  transfigure,  and  clarify. 

And  outhne  against  eternity. 
Our  inmost  selves  and  our  troubled  days. 


46  OPTIMISM 


The  laughing,  careless,  reckless  sun, 
The  Hfe-glver,  when  all  is  done, 

Knowing  no  weakness  or  tenderness, 
Having  no  pity  for  our  distress. 

Sick  to  death  of  our  mists  and  lies, 
Pours  himself  upon  other  skies. 


OPTIMISM 

YOU  who  boast  you're  an  optimist. 
May  the  leprosy  of  the  Jews 
Wither  your  flesh  for  the  truth  you've  missed 
And  the  cozening  lies  you  use! 

One  little  child,  tender  and  weak, 

Hurt  by  life's  devil's-wheel 
Should  make  you  blush  thro'  your  bowels  sleek. 

But  you  are  not  worthy  to  feel. 

As  long  as  the  smallest  one 

Of  earth's  children  by  pain  is  riven. 

As  long  as  one  cry  goes  up  under  the  sun, 
God  must  not  be  forgiven! 


'ti*^ 


He  does  not  forgive  Himself, 
The  rain  in  the  night  is  his  prayer. 

From  the  cross,  from  the  cross,  he  forgives  such 
pelf 
As  you  —  who  hung  him  there! 


THEAPPEAL  47 


THE  APPEAL 

OH  that  at  this  last  hour 
The  word  might  be  given  me 
To  tell  you  the  power  —  the  power 
That  you  have  over  me! 

Oh  that  I  could  enfold 

Dyed  in  purple  and  blue, 
Writ  in  gold  upon  gold, 

The  feehng  I  have  for  you! 

What  can  I  give  to  you 
To  take  on  your  cruel  way, 

That  will  cry  at  your  heart  all  night 
And  cry  at  your  heart  all  day! 

What  can  I  find  for  you 

To  place  close  to  your  breast  — 
Something  fatal  and  true. 

Something  to  trouble  your  rest? 

O,  wraith  of  the  rain  and  the  mist, 
How  can  I  hve  without  you? 

You  float  on  a  sea  of  amethyst 
And  the  moon  is  silver  about  you! 

You  float  and  drift  on  a  shadowy  tide, 
And  the  feathered  reeds  bend  low. 


48  THEAPPEAL 


And  the  moonlit  pastures  yearn  to  your  side, 
■    And  the  forests  beckon  you. 

Each  night,  each  night  ere  my  eyelids  fall 

I  shall  feel  you  calHng  to  me, 
With  a  low  persistent  plaintive  call. 

Like  a  sea-bird  lost  on  the  sea! 

And  I  shall  answer  and  you  will  hear, 

And  above  the  wind  and  rain 
The  people  a  strange  sobbing  will  hear; 

We  shall  be  together  again. 

Oh  that  at  this  last  hour 

The  word  might  be  given  me 
To  tell  you  the  power  —  the  power 

That  you  have  over  me! 


GOD  49 


GOD 


WHAT  is  that  face  at  the  window? 
What  is  that  form  at  the  door? 
Of  white  mist  are  its  shadowy  hmbs 
And  with  moonhght  covered  o'er. 

Is  it  a  girl  or  a  ghost? 

Pile  up  the  fuel  higher! 
Pour  out  the  wine  and  heat  the  roast! 

Let  us  warm  ourselves  at  the  fire. 

Look!     It  wavers  and  moans. 

It  is  very  cold  and  drear! 
Pelt  it  with  nuts  and  cherry-stones! 

It  must  not  enter  here. 

Let  us  talk  philosophy, 

While  the  roast  is  on  the  spit. 

That  moonht  thing  which  wavers  there, 
What  have  we  to  do  with  it? 

Listen!     Its  white  lips  move. 

Christ!     Are  you  mad  that  you  rise 
As  if  each  one  saw  his  buried  love 

Stand  hving  before  his  eyes? 

I  have  no  love.     I  he! 

I  lie  not!  —  The  wine  is  poured 
And  the  roast  is  ready;  and  I  — 

I  refuse  to  beheve  in  God! 


50  PERSEPHONE 


PERSEPHONE 

AT  last! 
After  the  dumb  sick  longing;  — 
At  last! 

Filling  the  ancient  urns 
With  odours  and  all  the  air 

With  a  shudder,  a  laughter,  a  cry  — 
On  a  wind  blown  over  leagues  of  tremulous  grass, 

Leagues  of  transparent  grass, 
Leagues   of  a   million   of  grass-blades   moist   with 
rain, 
Moist  with  warm  rain  and  fresh  from  the  brown 
earth  — 

At  last! 

The  ravished  one,  the  birth-pale  one. 
The  holy  one,  the  wanton  one. 

The  Spring  returns! 

O,  youth  of  the  world! 

O,  martyred  innocents! 
Murdered  on  all  these  battlefields  of  ours  — 

Fields   that   are  wet  with  something  else   than 
rain  — 
Is  it  your  blood  that  lends  unto  our  flowers 

This  quivering  beauty  that  redeemeth  pain? 
For  at  last! 

The  ravished  one,  the  birth-pale  one. 
The  holy  one,  the  wanton  one. 

The  Spring  returns! 


WITH     FLOWERS     IN     OUR     HANDS      $1 


THE  VISITOR 


FRGET?    I  had  forgotten 
Little  the  use! 
A  feather  in  the  doorway  — 
The  flood  is  loose. 

Forget?     I  had  forgotten. 
•  No  candle  burns. 
A  leaf  within  the  doorway  — 
The  dead  returns. 

Forget?     I  had  forgotten. 

Nail  up  the  door! 
You  should  nail  up  my  heart 

If  she's  to  come  no  more. 


WITH  FLOWERS  IN  OUR  HANDS 

GOME  let  us  walk  thro'  their  burning  hell 
With  flowers  in  our  hands! 
With  flowers  in  our  hands  let  us  walk  there, 
And  see  what  power  that  evil  air, 
That  evil  air  and  those  burning  hours, 
Have  to  hurt  us  who  carry  flowers! 


52  WAR 


WAR 

THESE,  these  are  not  the  hours 
For  mention  of  sweet  flowers, 
Or  for  Hght  whispers  blown  thro'  brittle  reeds. 
The  smoke  of  war's  eclipse. 
Rolls  dark  across  love's  Hps, 
Cypris  is  silent  while  Adonis  bleeds. 

So  be  it.     It  is  so. 

And  yet  while  come  and  go 

Sun,  moon  and  stars,  the  old  emotions  waken 
Which,  while  we  breathe,  we  must 
Feel  thro'  our  human  dust 

Even  tho'  the  pillars  of  the  earth  are  shaken. 

Oh  hero  hosts  struck  low, 
That  a  new  world  may  know. 

Some  rest  from  power,  some  escape  from  pride, 
Faint  over  each  dear  head. 
The  shamed  gods  must  shed 

Tears  for  the  cruel  pain  in  which  you  died. 

Never  quite  as  before, 

Will  spring  come  to  our  door  — 

A  red  stain  hes  upon  love's  tender  star. 
All  born  of  human  race. 
Henceforth  upon  the  place. 

Where  beats  the  heart  must  feel  an  aching  scar. 


WAR  53 

In  Nature's  judgment-hall, 
The  gods  are  guilty  all, 

All  who  stood  by  and  let  these  things  be  done. 
New  Hope  the  world  may  gain. 
It  is  not  worth  the  pain  — 

Not  worth  it!  —  of  one  torn  and  martyred  one! 


54  T  O     L  U  L  U 


TO  LULU 

IT  is  not  only  love 
That  for  one  another  we  feel, 
But  a  strange,  a  strange  identity, 
Like  spokes  of  the  same  wheel. 

Yes,  we  have  walked  together, 

With  buttercup  dust  on  our  shoes, 
Thro'  the  lovely  rainy  weather 

With  nothing  to  win  or  lose, 
And  the  wild-rose  scent  of  the  hedges. 

And  the  wild-thyme  scent  of  the  hill. 
And  the  fresh,  damp  smell  of  the  river  sedges 

Are  with  us  still. 

Can  they  ever  come  back  again, 

Those  infinite,  mystical  hours. 
With  love  dissolved  in  the  rain 

And  pain  asleep  in  the  flowers, 
Where  the  men  we  met  were  hke  men. 

On  some  God-hke  errand  bound, 
And  the  girls  we  met  were  —  hke  girls 

As  the  world  goes  round! 

Will  they  ever  come  back?     Will  they  ever? 

Who  can  say?     But  at  least  they  were, 
And  God  himself  can  never 

Of  the  past  make  empty  air; 


THEORACLE  SS 


Should  one  of  us  die,  the  other 
Will  have  two  souls  to  keep  — 

His  own  and  what  was  his  brother 
Saved  from  sleep. 

For  it  is  not  only  love, 
That  for  one  another  we  feel; 

But  a  strange,  a  strange  identity- 
Like  spokes  of  the  same  wheel! 


THE  ORACLE 

THE  world  is  malleable,"  you  said 
And  hke  a  young  god  passing  by 
Who  with  large  gesture  carelessly 
Raises  to  Hfe  one  who  is  dead. 

That  royal  oracle  sets  free 

The  old  sweet  reckless  powers  of  chance, 
And  hfts  from  lovely  circumstance 

The  monohth  of  destiny. 

"The  world  is  malleable"  you  said, 
"And  its  horizons  still  are  blue." 

Oh  subtle  heart,  oh  crafty  head! 
I  take  the  hint  and  follow  you! 


$6  T  H  E  Y     S  A  Y 


THEY  SAY 

THEY  say  the  sky  Is  azure  fair, 
I  do  not  know; 
They  say  the  spring  is  in  the  air, 

It  may  be  so. 
They  say  the  crimson-throated  shrike 

Will  nest  this  year  in  Alder  Dyke  — 
'Tis  very  hke,  'tis  very  Hke. 

«•••■•••« 

The  spring?     Oh  God,  in  heaven  above. 
Let  the  spring  go  —  give  me  my  Lovel 


OVER  57 


OVER 

WITH  the  blood  of  my  heart  on  my  hand 
As  the  wind  goes  over  the  hill, 
Very  quiet  I  stand 

At  your  darkened  window-sill. 

Does  the  rain  that  beats  on  your  roof, 
Thro'  your  dreams  send  not  one  cry? 

In  all  the  world  is  there  no  reproof 
For  your  thoughtless  cruelty? 

Do  you  see  on  the  shore  of  dreams 

In  the  misty  nebulous  land 
A  bowed  phantom  who  seems 

To  carry  blood  on  his  hand? 

Do  you  hear  as  the  pale  rain  drifts 

Over  yellow  poppies  and  graves, 
A  desperate  pleading  that  Hfts 

Its  voice  above  the  waves? 

The  voice  of  the  love  that  your  frown 

Has  driven  from  human  breath, 
Do  you  hear  it  wandering  up  and  down 

Over  the  country  and  over  the  town, 
From  the  reedy  shores  of  death? 


58  OVER 

Rise  up,  rise  up  for  awhile, 
And  press  your  shadowy  cheek 

Against  the  window  and  smile, 
I  will  not  beckon  or  speak. 

I  will  only  show  you  the  blood 
As  a  sign,  a  symbol,  a  token  — 

Be  happy  now  in  your  mood, 
The  golden  bowl  is  broken. 


THE     WILLOW-SEEDS  S9 


THE  WILLOW-SEEDS 

LOOK!    The  seeds  of  a  willow-tree, 
Falling  on  grass  that  must  have  grown, 
In  this  one  spot  for  a  thousand  years  I 
The  tossing  wind  hke  a  gusty  sea 
Over  the  elder-bushes  blown, 
Over  the  hollow-fohaged  elms, 
With  their  orbed  shadows  in  hemispheres. 
What  wild,  strange  thoughts  it  brings  to  me 
From  what  deep  reluctant  realms! 

Can  Fate  itself  remember  the  day 

When  I  wandered  here  from  some  sea-shore? 

I  saw  these  elder-bushes,  I  saw 

This  lonely  place  —  that  tree-trunk  grey; 

I  saw  the  willow-seeds  cover  the  grass  — 

The  grass  that  has  grown  for  a  thousand  years! 

I  saw  the  hoIlow-foHaged  elms, 

And  then,  as  now,  from  reluctant  realms. 

Came  thoughts  that  would  not  pass. 

What  lives  we  lead  —  dear  God,  what  lives! 

What  a  palimpsest  of  double  days. 

The  Master  of  our  journey  gives! 

Forever  round  our  casual  ways 

Strange  omens  peer,  strange  portents  wink; 

And  we  stand  darkly  on  the  brink 

Of  more  than  mortal  mysteries. 


60  REVERSION 


REVERSION 

SOMETHING  has  kept  us  apart 
And  has  flowed  between  us  twain  — 
Yet  my  heart  has  always  been  to  your  heart 
As  the  earth  to  the  hcahng  rain  — 
But  a  shadow  of  sorrow  has  wounded  your   breast 
And  a  far-off  fragrance  has  troubled  my  rest 
And  we  have  been  kept  apart. 

But  now  all  will  be  well! 

The  immortal  gods  have  spoken! 

Fate  moves  at  last  with  the  long-drawn  swell 

Of  the  sea;  and  the  charm  is  broken. 

Out  of  the  magical  night. 

Full  of  shadows  and  whispering  streams; 

Out  of  the  hollow,  holy  night 

Where  fade  all  passing  dreams, 

We  meet  and  all  is  well. 

'^  .  .  .      " 

And  the  eyehds  of  sorrow,  the  lips  of  dehght 

Are  bathed  in  lethe-drenched  moonlight, 

In  obhvious,  infinite  moonhght, 

In  the  deep  mandragora  of  the  night; 

And  we  meet  —  and  all  is  well. 


FORONCE  6l 


FOR  ONCE 

THRUST  upward  your  green  shoots  and  drink 
the  rain 
Tulip  and  daffodil!    Not  till  I  die 
Shall  my  heart  throb  with  such  a  spring  again 
Or  from  the  wine-press  of  my  ecstasy 
Such  purple  waves  flow  o'er  the  city's  towers. 
Making  a  sunrise  of  the  midnight  seas, 
And  on  far  roads,  hke  royal  embassies, 
TeUing  the  green  earth  of  my  happy  hours. 

Not  till  I  die  shall  such  a  spring  return, 
But  memory  will  return,  borne  on  faint  airs, 
And  from  the  ashes  of  its  ravished  urn 
Love  will  repeat  the  spring-time  of  its  prayers. 
How  then  will  look,  'mid  such  rememberings 
These  places,  where  the  prints  of  ancient  pain 
Hold  me,  until,  with  laughter  and  with  rain, 
You  come  to  me,  O  Spring  of  all  my  Springs? 

They  will  be  brimmed  with  tears  intolerable, 
They  will  be  tender  with  an  infinite  light, 
They  will  be  sadder  than  a  sunken  bell. 
They  will  be  sweeter  than  a  lover's  night, 
They  will  be  exquisite  with  broken  sighs. 
And  faintly  whispered  words  that  catch  the  breath, 
They  will  be  quiet  as  the  wings  of  death. 
That  quiver  between  two  eternities. 


62  FORONCE 


Thrust  upward  your  green  shoots  and  drink  the  sun, 
TuHp  and  daffodil!     The  leaves  shall  spread 
Their  fohage  and  the  punctual  seasons  run 
Their  unremitted  course  till  I  am  dead. 
O  Memory,  Memory,  sharp  must  be  your  sting 
And  bitter-sweet;   for  'till  my  dream-tossed  world 
Into  the  night  from  which  it  rose  is  hurled. 
No  more,  no  more  shall  I  know  such  a  Spring! 


THESATURNIAN  63 


THE  SATURNIAN 

AH,  I  must  follow  it  high  and  low, 
Tho'    it    leave    me    cold    to    your    human 
touch! 
Some  starry  sorcery  made  me  so; 

And  from  my  birth  have  I  been  such. 

What  is  it  I  follow  so  secret-lone? 

Over  the  hills  and  along  the  sea? 
Beauty  with  every  seed  is  sown, 

For  you,  for  them,  for  me? 

Not  so,  by  the  gods!     Do  I  not  hear 
In  the  night  a  tender-muffled  crying, 

Rising,  falHng,  sinking,  dying? 
Oh,  I  must  follow  it  thro'  the  world! 

Not  so,  by  the  gods!     When  the  dawn-wind  stirs, 

Rusthng  over  the  river-reeds, 
Trembling  over  the  wet  pastures. 

Shall  I  not  follow  it,  whither  it  leads? 

Oh,  wild  and  sad,  oh,  wild  and  sweet, 
Is  the  lonely  horn  that  I  always  hear. 

Blown  from  the  place  where  all  streams  meet, 
Where  ail  horizons  disappear! 

The  long  sea-tides  bring  home  to  port. 
Their  ships  by  many  a  moonht  wharf. 


64  THESATURNIAN 

But  an  ebbing  twilight  carries  my  thought 
Beyond  every  coast  it  would  anchor  off. 

Like  a  reef-bell  rocking  and  ringing  low. 

Under  a  grey  and  rain-swept  sky, 
The  beauty  I  follow  doth  come  and  go, 

And  if  I  found  it,  I  should  die. 

The  wild-bird  of  my  longing  sings 

Always  in  the  next  hollow, 
And  ahvays,  always  it  spreads  its  wings, 

When  I  cross  the  hill  to  follow. 

All!   Once  when  the  burning  noon  was  poured 
On  moss  and  stone  and  dreaming  sod, 

I  saw  the  great  blue  flower  that  God 
Made  for  the  Son  of  God. 

And  do  you  think  I  can  go  content, 

With  the  beauty  we  meet  with  everyAvhere, 

When  I  have  breathed  that  flower's  scent 
And  seen  it  melt  into  the  air? 

Oh,  I  must  foHow  it  high  and  low. 

Though  it  leave  me  cold  to  your  human  touch, 
Some  starry  sorcery  made  me  so; 

And  from  my  birth  have  I  been  such. 


OBSEQUIES  6$ 


THE  HOUR 

GOME  let  us  take  this  hour  and  hold  it  up 
While  our  stars  shine, 
Leaving  our  joy  untouched,  as  in  a  cup 

Of  unspilt  wine; 
Then,  though  the  deluge  break  and  we  be  driven 

Into  the  grave, 
Like  gods  unto  the  gods  we  shall  have  given 
The  gift  they  gave. 


OBSEQUIES 

INCH   by   inch  —  for   it  takes   some  time,   this 
thing  — 
You  have  killed  my  love; 
Till  at  last  a  look,  a  gesture,  an  anything 

Did  fatal  prove. 
And  now,  ah  now,  how  desperately  you  cling 

To  its  dead  bier. 
As  tho'  thro'  your  calm    breast    passed    the   same 
sting 
That  laid  it  here  I 


66  ACCUSATION 


ACCUSATION 

IF  this  Is  what  you  meant, 
Why  did  you  not  go  by? 
I  had  got  used  to  my  lonely  place 
And  amid  the  shadows  had  found  a  face, 
A  phantom-face  'neath  a  palhd  sky, 
A  phantom-face  'neath  a  leaden  tent  — 
Why  did  you  not  go  by. 
If  this  is  what  you  meant? 

Why  did  you  not  pass  on, 

If  this  is  what  you  meant? 

Why  did  you  rise  like  a  dumb  moss-rose. 

Brooding  in  somnolent  repose. 

Just  where  the  moonlight  shone. 

On  the  path  of  my  content? 

Why  did  you  not  pass  on, 

If  this  is  what  you  meant? 

Why  did  you  not  go  past. 

If  this  is  what  you  meant? 

Why  did  you  fling  abroad  in  the  air 

A  royal  ransom  of  rich  despair? 

Why  with  rain  were  your  petals  so  full 

And  with  dew  why  were  you  so  beautiful? 

The  charm  that  held  me  fast 

Had  never  then  been  rent. 

Why  did  you  not  go  past, 

If  this  is  what  you  meant? 


THEMONK  67 


THE  MONK 

OUT  of  our  Lady's  cloister  torn, 
I  swept  like  a  hunted  flame, 
Over  vafleys  and  hills  forlorn 

To  a  leafy  wood  where  in  shades  are  born 
Mosses  without  a  name. 

And  there  I  found  —  poor  monk  that  I  was  — 

My  curse,  my  fate,  my  spell  — 
Lightly  she  leaped  from  the  leafy  grass 

With  a  sigh  hke  a  vesper-bell. 
And  her  eyes  to  me  had  the  strange  soft  look 

Of  the  "Introibo"  signs 
In  my  illumined  Missal-book, 

Where  the  "Sursum  Corda"  begins. 

O  God!     I  loved  her  from  my  heart; 

And  a  httle  she  loved  me! 
And  day  and  night  she  led  me  apart 

Where  the  flickering  sunbeams  gleam  and  dart 
In  the  mid-wood's  mystery. 

Her  childish  movements,  her  broken  words, 

Tliey  were  my  only  beads. 
For  choir  we  had  the  twittering  birds, 

For  candles  the  moonlit  reeds. 

O  God!     I  loved  her  from  my  heart. 
And  a  little  she  loved  me! 


68  THEMONK 


And  to  watch  her  laughter  flicker  and  dart 

And  the  rose  in  her  cheeks  come   and   depart, 
Were  the  prayers  of  my  breviary. 

But  alas  for  the  monk  from  his  cloister  strayed! 

Cold  in  that  very  place 
Where  the  hyacinths  grew  in  leafiest  shade 

And  my  Love's  head  by  my  side  was  laid 
I  saw^  our  Lady's  face. 

And  all  night  now  and  all  day  too, 

I  tremble  those  twain  between; 
And  I  hate  the  sky  for  its  holy  blue 

And  the  earth  for  its  heathen  green. 
I  have  lost  my  love  because  of  my  heaven 

And  my  heaven  because  of  my  love. 
Is  there   no   mercy   ever  given 

To   him  that  two  faiths  move? 


DESERTED  69 


DESERTED 

NONE  know  her;    none  remember  her. 
Cold  lies  she.     Round  the  place 
The  wind-blown  shadows  as  they  stir 

Fall  on  no  human  face. 
Leagues  distant  the  moon  draws  the  tide 

As  the  moon  has  always  done. 
Whom  does  she  draw  to  her  dead  side? 
Not  one  of  us  —  not  one! 

The  grasses  sway  beside  the  door; 

The  wind  shrieks  thro'  the  hedge. 
No  fire-light  thrown  across  the  floor 

Reddens  the  window-ledge. 
Gone!     All,  all  gone!   save  those  faint  ghosts 

Her  memories,  her  pain, 
And  on  the  roof  the  fluttering  hosts 

Of  leaves  that  fall  Hke  rain. 

And  yet  the  same  sky  overhead  — 

The  same  moon  in  the  sky! 
Surely  some  token  of  the  dead 

Who  went  so  wistfully, 
Some  sign,  some  token,  lingering  on 

In  earth  or  air  or  sea. 
Must  cry  upon  the  hearts  of  stone 

That  can  let  these  things  be! 


70  REMORSE 


REMORSE 

I  WROTE  my  remorse  on  a  forest-leaf 
That  the  wind  might  bear  it  to  you; 
But  the  wind  cared  nothing  for  my  grief 
And  over  your  roof  it  flew. 
I  wrote  my  remorse  on  a  leaf  for  you; 
But  you  never  knew. 

I  wrote  my  remorse  on  the  ghmmering  sand 
Where  your  tired  feet  might  stray; 
But  the  sea  rose  up  and  covered  the  land 
And  carried  my  words  away. 
I  wrote  my  remorse  on  the  sand  for  you; 
But  you  never  knew. 

I  wrote  my  remorse  on  the  breast 
Of  the  Sphinx  with  the  woman's  eyes; 
And  your  name  remained  —  but  the  rest,  the  rest 
Turned  sorcery  and  lies! 
I  wrote  on  the  Sphinx's  breast  for  you; 
But  you  never  knew. 

And  now,  when  you  weep  o'er  the  spot 
Where,  earth  in  earth,  I  rot. 
Do  you  read,  as  the  rank-grown  grass  you  pull, 
What  remorse  has  a  grinning  skull? 
And  do  you  laugh  too  and  let  all  go? 
I  shall  never  knowl 


TO     ISADORA     DUNCAN  7I 

TO  ISADORA  DUNCAN 

WITH  the  gesture  of  a  god, 
You  gave  me  back  my  youth; 
And  a  scent  of  violets 
Overflowed  the  world. 
With  the  gesture  of  a  god. 
You  gave  me  back  my  love. 
And  tears  deeper  than  tears 
Overflowed  my  heart. 
With  the  gesture  of  a  god, 
You  trampled  on  fate, 
You  Hfted  up  on  high 
Those  that  had  fallen  — 
All  the  oppressed, 
All  the  humiliated. 
All  the  offended; 
You  lifted  them  up  on  high 
And  they  were  comforted. 
With  the  gesture  of  a  god. 
You  wrestled  with  Demogorgon; 
You  brought  hope  back 
And  freedom  and  triumph 
To  those  whom  the  world  had  crushed. 
All  of  us,  sitting  in  darkness. 
Saw  a  great  light. 

You  danced  as  dance  the  morning  stars 
And  the  universe  was  conquered. 
You  smote  the  universe  in  the  mouth; 
And  you  saved  us  — 
You  —  a  woman. 


72  TRAVELLERS 


TRAVELLERS 

TOO  many  times  have  we  both  been  born; 
Too  far  have  we   voyaged  —  dear  Christ, 
too  far!  *• 

Too  deep  disguises  have  we  both  worn, 
And  the  masks  of  too  many  an  avatar! 

I  catch  on  your  face  the  old  sad  smile 

Of  our  ancient  disillusionment, 
When  the  ardent  crowd  tries  to  beguile 

Your  world-old  soul  to  impassionment. 

And  in  a  moment  I  know  you  again. 

And  you  know  me  and  we  mock  them  all, 

As  we  did  of  old  on  the  Trojan  plain, 
As  we  did  of  old  on  the  Roman  wall. 

As  we  did  in  Carthage  and  Syracuse, 

As  we  did  in  Syria  and  Cathay, 
One  look  —  and  in  a  moment  they  lose 

All  hold  on  us.     We  have  sHpped  away. 

Love?     Let  them  talk  of  Love!    Our  bond 
Goes  deeper.     It  has  been  sealed  in  death. 

We  have  looked  on  Isis  in  Trebizond 
And  in  Tyre  have  worshipped  Ashtoreth. 

Truth?  Let  them  talk  of  Truth!  We  laugh, 
Who  have  seen  Eleusis  wreath'd  in  flame 

And  the  high  lamps  swung  o'er  the  cenotaph 
Of  Her  the  immortals  must  not  name. 


TRAVELLERS  73 

Beauty?    As  tho'  breathed  not  from  you 

The  very  dawn  of  creation's  day, 
When  the  planets  with  all  their  retinue 

Leaped  forth  to  meet  you  on  your  way! 

Our  dreams  have  mingled.     The  new  times  bring 

Old  snatches  of  buried  memory, 
Which  trouble  us  like  a  whispering, 

Heard  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

We  have  been  too  far;  we  have  dived  too  deep. 
Death  itself  cannot  quench  the  spark. 

We  know  too  much  of  the  ways  of  sleep 
To  fear  the  everlasting  dark. 


74  THEDANCE 


THE  DANCE 

DANCE  on;  we  would  not  touch  you, 
Nay  —  let  us  turn  aside, 
Lest  the  shadow  of  what  we've  looked  on 
In  our  eyes  should  be  descried. 
Somewhere  at  least  must  fingers 
Be  clasped  to  the  burning  sun; 
Somewhere  must  hmbs  be  music 
To  the  tune  the  fates  have  spun; 
Somewhere  the  high  immortals 
Must  have  oblations  poured; 
Somewhere  in  classic  portals. 
The  gods  must  be  adored; 
Somewhere  must  hfe  be  beauty 
Though  the  prophets  darken  their  eyes, 
Somewhere  must  beauty  be  very  truth 
Though  the  planets  fall  from  the  skies. 
Dance  on:   heed  not  our  phght; 
Dance  on:   be  cruel  and  free; 
Dance  hke  a  flame  in  the  night! 
Dance  like  a  star  on  the  sea! 


TWILIGHT  75 


TWILIGHT 

OH  day  of  shadows  and    scents!    Oh  day  of 
roses! 
Roses  down-drooping  into  the  dark  lane  — 
Once,  ere  this  indolent  twilight  ebbs  and  closes, 
Have  pity  and  restore  my  dead  again! 

Soon  will  the  moon  rise,  luminous  and  tender! 

Already  on  the  night  her  pallor  is  shed. 
O  roses,  roses,  pity  me  and  render 

Back  for  one  hour  my  darhng  from   the   dead! 

God!    How  the  air  is  full  of  shadows  and  roses! 

Shadows  and  scents  and  roses  fill  the  lane  — 
Somewhere  —  oh  hsten!  —  where  a  river  flows  is 

Music  beyond  all  pleasure  and  all  pain! 

Oh  large  and  indolent  midsummer-night! 

Breaking  our  hearts  with  memories  that  bleed, 
Oh  night  of  roses,  oh  moon-tranced  night, 

Have  mercy!   Give  me  back  the  one  I  need! 


76  THETUNE 


THE  TUNE 

I  PLAYED  a  crazy  tune 
To  the  river-weeds. 
I  played  it  to  the  moon, 
And  the  sad  dark  reeds. 

And  the  face  that  for  so  long 

Has  vexed  me  hour  by  hour 
Like  the  rhyme  of  a  lost  song, 

Like  the  scent  of  a  dead  flower. 

Drew  near  me;   and  the  cold 

Lethean,  lamentable 
Lilt  of  my  love-song  old, 

To  give  me  her  lips  was  able! 

But  I  played  a  note  too  high 

Or  I  played  a  note  too  low  — 
And  the  same  moon  looks  down  from  the  sky 

And  the  same  waters  flow. 


REACTION  77 


REACTION 

OH  heart,  sink  into  yourself  and  rally 
The    old    fierce    strength    of    your    lonely 
mood  — 
Tho'  the  train  goes  whistling  thro'  the  valley, 
And  the  moths  go  fluttering  thro'  the  wood. 

The  cold  dew  rises  from  field  and  river. 
The  night-wind  wanders  from  hill  to  hill. 

The  tall  June  grasses  sigh  and  quiver, 
Oh  heart,  sink  into  yourself,  be  still! 

Have  done  with  love  and  its  shilly-shally! 

Have  done  with  love  and  its  poison-smart! 
Oh  heart,  sink  into  yourself  and  rally 

The  old  fierce  strength  of  your  lonely  mood  — 
Let  the  train  go  whistling  thro'  the  valley 

And  the  moths  go  fluttering  thro'  the  wood. 
Return  to  your  solitude,  oh  heart! 


78  SATURN 


SATURN 

IT  is  the  place  1 
No  moon,  no  mist,  no  sound, 
As  the  oracles  had  writ, 
Only  the  huge  and  starry  night, 
Liquid,  cool,  and  infinite. 
Lit  with  lamps,  by  the  old  gods  lit, 
Floating,  floating,  over  it. 
Over  the  place  I  have  found. 

It  is  the  place! 
I  had  known  it,  in  the  deep 

FuII-brimmed  cup  of  flowing  sleep, 
From  which,  in  the  vast  silence,  I 

Had  drunk  inviolability. 

It  is  the  place! 
Upon  the  terrace  I  step  forth 

And  look  to  the  east  and  look  to  the  north. 
On  the  north  there  are  water-meadows  wide, 

With  shadowy  reeds  on  every  side. 
On  the  east  —  ah !  where  can  I  have  seen 

Mists  and  marshes  so  grey  and  green? 
In  no  human  dream  I  have  known  this  place. 
How  slow  is  the  sun  to  show  his  face! 

Did  ever  the  winds  with  so  indrawn  breath 
Wait  and  hsten,  and  hsten  and  wait? 

Did  ever  life  come  so  near  to  death 
And  remain  so  wistful  and  passionate? 


SATURN  79 


The  silence  deepens.  The  grey  cold  hght, 
Stealing  over  the  pools  and  the  reeds  — 

Is  it  only  the  common  dawn?  This  night 
For  more  than  the  morning  intercedes. 

Oh  night,  and  have  I  not  also  praj^ed? 

Oh  dawn,  and  have  I  not  also  cried  — 
Betrayed!    betrayed!   betrayed!   betrayed! - 

Unto  the  hollow  spaces  wide? 

It  is  the  place! 
And  now  as  the  vapours  rise. 

And  now  as  the  mist  recedes, 
In  his  old  immortal  guise. 

Looking  down  on  the  reeds. 
Luminous,  lovely,  silver  bright. 

Heaven's  antagonist,  bearer  of  light; 
Still  untouched  by  passion's  stir. 

Loving  the  earth  and  laughing  at  her  — 

Son  of  the  Morning,  Lucifer! 

Then  I  heard  them.     From  the  far 

Ledges  of  the  dawn  I  heard  them. 
Every  fragile,  quivering  thing 

Of  earth's  primal  gendering; 
Every  hidden,  trembhng,  shy 

Child  of  ancient  mystery. 
Raised  a  cry  out  of  the  cold 

Shadows  of  the  forests  old; 
Cold  and  low  and  sweet  and  clear, 

Like  a  sea-shell  held  to  a  sea-god's  ear  — 


8o  SATURN 


"They  have  buried  him  in  vain! 

Saturn,  Saturn  comes  again! 
He  was  old.     He  was  weak.     He  was  dolorous, 

And  they  buried  him  far  away  from  us. 
They  planted  mountains  upon  his  breast 

And  they  mocked  and  said,  'There  let  him  rest! 
Let  the  leaves  of  aeons  of  forests  dead 

Cover  his  eyehds,  hide  his  head! 
Into  a  midnight  deep  as  the  world, 

Let  his  old  sad,  mad  heart  be  hurled!'" 
Ah,  that  cry!     From  many  a  pool 

Where  are  reflected  strange  dim  faces, 
Faces  tender  and  sad  and  cool, 

Under  the  shadow  of  leafy  places, 
Came  that  voice  that  still  I  hear. 

Wild  and  low  and  sweet  and  clear, 
Over  hushed  dew-drenched  lawns. 

Where  rivers  flow  from  secret  dawns; 
Over  forests  faint  and  dim. 

Where  the  leaves  and  the  shadows  remember  him. 
"They  have  buried  him  in  vain! 

Saturn,  Saturn  comes  again!" 

Oh  tremulous  hope!    Oh  large  escape 

From  the  intolerable  oppressors! 
Oh  bent  and  bowed,  resume  your  shape 

And  dispossess  the  dispossessors! 

Bring  back  the  old  and  tender  things. 
The  things  that  weep,  the  things  that  play 

By  the  margins  of  eternal  springs. 
Where  twihght  is  loveher  than  day. 


SATURN  8l 


And  the  white  dawn  never  flows  away. 
Oh  tremulous  hope!    Oh  large  escape! 
Oh  bent  and  bowed,  resume  your  shape 

And  disposses  the  dispossessors ! 

Can  it  be  true? 
Can  the  weak  overcome  the  strong? 

Can  forgiveness  all  things  cover? 
Can  the  singer  hear  the  end  of  his  song? 

Can  the  loved  return  to  the  lover? 

Oh  planet  silver-scornful,  oh  planet  calm! 

Riding  the  ether  alone, 
Will  this  great  dawn  bring  us  the  longed-for  balm 

And  for  all  griefs  atone? 

Still  low  and  sweet  the  cry  comes  to  my  ears  — 
"They  have  buried  him  in  vain!"  — 

But  fainter,  fainter,  comes  it,   and  cold  salt  tears 
Are  on  my  cheek  again. 

It  is  the  place! 
From  the  high  terrace  I  lean  forth 

And  look  to  the  east  and  look  to  the  north. 
Oh  pity!  Why  does  that  sweet  cry  fail? 

And  why  grows  Lucifer  so  pale? 
Why  do  the  lovely  and  tender  things 

Sink  back  again  to  their  primal  springs? 
What  wheels  are  those  whose  terror  draws  nigh, 

RoUing  up  the  slope  of  the  sky? 

Look! 


82  SATURN 


Must  it  forever  be  like  this? 
Oh  Fate!     Oh  Fate  remediless  1 

Look! 

Out  of  the  east  with  a  stream  of  blood, 

With  music  no  man  has  understood, 
With  splendour,  with  power,  with  terrible  joy. 

With  strength  to  create  and  strength  to  destroy; 
Kissing  all  life  with  a  careless  kiss, 

Creating  pain,  creating  bliss; 
The  dead,  the  dead  only,  free  from  him. 

Red  with  blood  from  rim  to  rim. 
Over  the  conquered  throat  of  the  world 

The  chariot  of  the  sun  is  hurled! 

And  so  —  it  is  not  the  place; 

And  once  more  I  bow  my  face. 
They  have  not  buried  him  in  vain! 

Saturn  will  never  come  again! 
They  rule  —  they  rule  from  sky  to  sky. 

Hopeless  —  hopeless,  was  that  cry  I 
And  yet  — 
Though  the  oracles  have  lied  to  us. 

And  the  gulfs  of  space  have  cried  to  us. 
And  every  chance  has  died  to  us. 

Oh  Saturn,  Oh  Lucifer,  Oh  Christ  — 
Oh  Love  — 


THESHOES  83 


THE  SHOES 

I  HAVE  a  pair  of  new  shoes. 
They  are  nice.    They  have  low  heels." 
So  her  letter  says,  and  the  brief  words  bruise 
My  soul  and  break  deep  seals. 

It  is  strange!     I  have  talked  with  her 

Of  the  wistful  tears  of  things; 
Of  the  earth  and  the  gods  and  the  thoughts  that 

stir 
The  soul,  as  a  wave-tossed  voyager 

Is  stirred  by  the  touch  of  wings. 

But  nothing  of  all  I  said 

Of  the  gods  and  the  fatal  sky, 
And  the  magical  stars  that  over  each  head 

Go  heavy  with  destiny. 
Had  half  such  power  to  bruise; 

Or  break  such  world-deep  seals. 
As,  "I  have  a  pair  of  new  shoes. 

They  are  nice.     They  have  low  heels." 


84  ETERNITY 


ETERNITY 

ETERNITY  is  ca  wind-blown  husk 
And  fools  run  after  it; 
And  when  a  sand-storm  brings  the  dusk, 
They  call  it  the  infinite. 

On   the  surface  —  the  surface  —  is  Beauty  found. 

And  the  surface  of  life  goes  deep; 
For  where  it  is  lost  in  the  underground, 

We  sleep  —  we  sleep  —  we  sleep. 

There  is  nothing  else  but  the  surface  of  life. 

Nor  ever  was  nor  will  be! 
—  Except  the  sleep  that  endeth  life; 

And  may  that  fall  gently  on  me  I 

Fall  gently  on  me,  and  ere  it  fall, 

Let  me  once  more  pretend 
That  the  one  I  love  the  most  of  all, 

Is  with  me  at  the  end. 

Let  the  wind-blown  husk,  eternity. 

Dance  over  infinite  sand. 
So  the  one  I  love  come  once  to  me. 

And  give  me  her  little  hand! 


THEMASK  85 


THE  MASK 

WITH  treacheries  bitter  and  deep 
I  have  kept  my  place. 
With  a  mask  hke  the  mask  of  sleep 
I  have  covered  my  face. 

I  have  smiled  while  my  heart  beneath 

Was  deadly  with  fate, 
And  the  sword  in  my  jewelled  sheath 

Was  white  with  my  hate. 

But  now  as  you  Hft  up  your  hand, 

Light  as  a  flower. 
By  the  word  of  the  wind  in  the  sand 

I  know  it,  my  hour! 

And  I  drop  my  mask  and  let  fall 
The  sheath  from  my  sword  — 

You  shall  know  me,  O  my  one  of  all, 
As  I  am  before  God  I 


86  WHATWESAY 


WHAT  WE  SAY 

YOU  have  gathered  somewhere  to  you 
The  softness  of  pastures  cool, 
And  the  tender,  ineffable  blue 

Of  the  deep  leaf-shadowed  pool. 
Where  a  lovelier  sky  than  ours 

Sinks  down  between  wavering  weeds 
And  the  roots  of  the  floating  water-flowers 
Blend  with  the  roots  of  the  reeds,  i 

You  have  gathered  to  you  somewhere 

The  passion  of  hyacinth-stains. 
Where  the  odorous  moss-dark  air 

Is  moist  with  a  thousand  rains; 
You  have  formed  your  virgin  flesh 

Of  the  suppliance  of  crescent  moons, 
And  the  tender  ferns  that  enmesh 

The  shadows  of  summer  noons. 

When  my  days  are  yours  there  passes 

With  primrose-scented  showers. 
The  thought  of  cool  deep  grasses 

And  beds  of  cuckoo-flowers; 
When  my  nights  are  yours,  my  dreams 

Are  full  of  the  flight  of  swallows. 
Dipping  their  wings  in  rushy  streams 

And  shady  river-hollows. 


WHATWESAY  87 


O  child,  you  have  made  your  own 

All  lovely  and  delicate  things, 
And  losing  you,  I  am  left  alone 

In  a  place  where  no  bird  sings; 
In  a  place  where  no  reeds  quiver 

Or  tender  rain  goes  by. 
Nor  clouds  nor  cooling  river 

Soften  the  arid  sky. 


88  BE    hard! 


"BE  HARDl" 

SWEET  Christ  —  our  hearts  should  be  stone. 
Then  it  would  be  the  end! 

For  the  sake  of  one  —  of  one 

I  hurt  my  friend. 

There  should  be  lamps  in  the  sky, 

Not  dead  moons  flickering, 

Not  mists  to  cover  us. 
There  should  be  lamps  in  the  sky. 
We  tread  too  heavily 

And  the  darkness  is  over  us. 
Sweet  Christ,  our  hearts  should  be  stone! 

There  should  be  lamps  in  the  sky 

To  read  the  lonehness. 
The  lonehness  we  cannot  smother 
While  bhndly  we  stab  at  one  another 

With  a  rage  that  is  a  cry. 

0  that  our  hearts  in  one  Hghtning  flash 

Were  illumined  thro'  and  thro'! 
Then  we  should  know  the  oak  from  the  ash. 

The  rosemary  from  the  rue! 
Then  would  be  proved  what  we  dare  not  prove. 

And  seen  what  we  dare  not  see; 
Then  love  would  be  justified  of  love. 

And  a  friend  a  friend  would  be. 


(( 


BE     hard!"  89 


There  are  no  lamps  in  the  sky; 

There  are  hearts  under  all  our  feet, 
And  we  tread  heavily, 

And  the  circle  is  complete. 
Sweet  Christ,  our  hearts  should  be  stone! 

Then  it  would  be  the  end. 
For  the  sake  of  one  —  of  one  — 

I  hurt  my  friend. 


90  "many   waters" 


"MANY  WATERS" 

0  BRIGHT  and  terrible  Love, 
From  the  depths  of  your  bitter  sea, 
I  turn  my  eyes  to  your  planet  above, 
Tender  and  luminous,  O  Love  — 

And  its  splendour  healeth  me. 
Tender  and  large  you  swim  into  sight, 

A  Lotus,  a  lamp  of  liquid  light. 
You  lean  on  the  sunset  and  draw  the  night 

As  the  night  draws  the  sea. 
Your  tide  is  bitter,  O  terrible  Love, 

In  which  I  sink  and  drown. 
But  large  and  luminous,  high  above, 

Your  planet  still  looks  down. 
And  the  bitter  waves  that  go  over  me 

Are  bright  with  your  serenity. 


THEBASSARID  QI 


THE  BASSARID 

DANCE  with  the  Maenad  crowd; 
Follow  your  pulses'  beat. 
Toss  back  your  hair  from  your  forehead  proud; 
Crush  in  the  madness  of  cymbals  loud 
The  hyacinths  at  your  feet. 

Deep  in  the  dewy  dawn, 

Where  the  serpent  of  passion  hisses, 
Pan  and  Sylvan  and  Satyr  and  Faun, 
Let  them  whirl  you  on  through  the  branches  torn, 

And  stain  your  mouth  with  kisses. 

With  parted  lips  and  with  eyes 

Brimming  and  drugged  and  bright, 
Cry  aloud  your  wild  Thessahan  cries. 
Cry  aloud  your  Phrygian  ecstasies, 

In  the  hot  perfumed  night. 

Let  the  wood-spurge  cling  to  your  waist. 

Let  the  woodbine  tangle  your  hair. 
Let  your  breast  by  hazels  be  embraced 
And  from  oozing  green-wood  sap  be  a  taste 

Of  pungent  ivy  there. 

With  wild-flung  arms  and  with  Hmbs 

Shuddering  and  wounded  hps. 
Cry  aloud  as  your  brain  in  frenzy  swims. 
And  loosed  by  the  sweetness  of  Bacchic  hymns. 

Your  vine-wreathed  girdle  sHps. 


92  THEBASSARID 


As  the  torches  flicker  and  fall, 

Flame  on  through  the  dew-dark  wood; 

Answer  the  thrill  of  the  mad  god's  call 

To  the  bitter  end  of  the  festival 
With  every  drop  of  your  blood. 

Fear  not.     When  back  you  steal. 

Broken  and  weary,  to  me, 
With  oil  and  wine  I  will  surely  heal 
Each  bruise  and  hurt  that  your  senses  feel, 

As  I  take  you  on  my  knee. 

I  will  heal  each  hurt  of  your  outraged  soul, 

Each  mark  of  the  wood-god's  force. 
I  will  cause  the  eternal  sea  to  roll 
With  waves  more  pure  than  the  boreal  pole 
Over  your  least  remorse! 


T  H  E     C  R  Y  93 


THE  CRY 

DO  you  not  hear  her  crying 
Out  and  away  and  beyond? 
Those  are  the  grasses  sighing 

To  the  hhes  in  the  pond! 
All  night  long  they  sigh  and  talk 

As  the  wind  wails  up  the  garden-walk. 
They  sigh  to  the  hhes  in  the  pond  — 

But  what  do  they  know  of  away  and  beyond? 

Do  you  not  hear  her  crying 

Out  and  beyond  and  afar? 
Those  are  the  wild-swans  flying 

Towards  the  evening  star! 
All  night  long  they  fly  to  the  west; 

And  a  hundred  forests  beneath  them  rest, 
And  a  hundred  sunsets  behind  them  are! 

But  what  do  they  know  of  beyond  and  afar? 

Out  and  away  and  beyond, 

I  tefl  you  I  hear  her  crying! 
Beyond  the  grass  and  the  pond  — 

Beyond  the  wild-swans  flying  — 
Do  you  think  I  am  mad  that  I  know  not 

That  rise  and  fall  in  her  cry? 
There  is  no  God  if  I  go  not 

To  find  her  before  I  die! 


94  RENEWAL 


RENEWAL 

OVER  the  heavy  hills,  over  the  drowning  seas. 
The  shadows  ride; 
And  the  bowed  necks  of  the  gods, 
Drooping  hke  willow-trees, 

Sink  side  by  side. 
While  over  their  heads  the  shadows  go, 

Drifting,  whirhng  across  the  sky. 
And  voices  that  are  not  voices  flow, 
Flow  and  mingle  and  lose  themselves 

In  a  cry  that  is  no  cry. 
It  must  have  been  in  a  broken  dream 

Somewhere  else  than  under  our  heaven, 
That  I  saw  the  yellow  cowslips  gleam 

And  marigolds  to  the  meadows  given. 
For  while  such  murder  as  this  is  done 

And  shadows  hke  this  ride  on  the  night, 
How  can  the  feet  of  the  spring  be  hght? 
How  can  the  sap  through  the  branches  run? 
The  natural  look  of  human  faces 

Is  altered.     Delicate  thoughts  are  fled. 
Torn  and  gashed  in  blood-strewn  places. 

More  than  the  heart  can  count  lie  dead. 
Bow  low  your  heads,  ye  gods! 

While  the  troops  of  the  murdered 
Rush  by  you,  rush  by  you  on  terrible  wings. 
Bow  low  your  heads,  ye  gods! 
It  is  not  you  who  will  bring  us  better  things. 


RENEWAL  95 


We  have  no  hope  left,  save  in  her, 

The  ancient  mother  of  men. 
And  the  old  ineffable  stir 

Of  life  breaking  forth  again! 

Moss  upon  ruins. 

Grass  upon  graves, 

And  the  fragile  leaves  of  hope 

In  the  cracks  of  broken  hearts. 
For  the  faint  wind-flowers  will  quiver  yet, 

And  beneath  impenetrable  trees, 
Will  bloom  as  of  old  the  violet, 

In  the  ashes  of  these  insanities. 


g6  UNDERSTANDING 


UNDERSTANDING 

HE  does  not  understand 
Or  know  his  own  heart's  truth!" 
I  heard  her  say,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
And  the  treacherous  hope  of  youth. 

Ah!    beautiful  one,  indeed 

He  does  not;    nor  ever  will 
For  all  the  tears  that  your  heart  may  bleed 

And  the  tears  your  eyes  may  fill. 

Till  the  rivers  flow  back  to  their  source, 
Till  the  grass  grow  on  desert  sand, 

Till  the  terrible  planets  change  their  course. 
He  will  not  understand. 

Let  him  go.     But  the  further  he  goes 

The  closer  you  keep,  my  dear. 
Something  he  Httle  knows. 

Something  he  cannot  hear. 
You  have  touched  the  eternal  sea 

And  the  gods  have  taken  your  hand. 
When  he  speaks  of  the  love  that  used  to  be, 

You  will  not  understand. 


T  H  E  R  E     I  T     I  s!  97 


THERE  IT  IS! 

LET  it  go,  then;  let  it  go! 
It  was  that  frail  thing 
You  will  never,  never  know, 

Winter-time  or  Spring. 
It  was  only  what  the  sad 

Poets  used  to  call 
Love,  and  praise  in  many  a  mad 
Song  and  madrigal! 

Let  it  go,  then;  let  it  go! 

Send  your  pity  after! 
For  this  thing  called  love  is  so, 

Pity  moves  its  laughter. 
Did  you  whisper  the  word  "friend"? 

Send  that  also  packing! 
Let  the  smoke  be  at  an  end 

When  the  flame  is  lacking! 

All  is  well.     I  blame  you  not. 

You  were  born  to  this. 
God  in  heaven!     'Twas  I  forgot 

What  a  woman  is! 
Let  it  go,  child,  let  it  go! 

I  can  Hve  without  you. 
But  I  cannot  bear  Hfe  so. 

Loving  you,  to  doubt  you! 


98  PAXVOBISCUM 


PAX  VOBISCUM 

OH  eyelids  of  the  dying  day, 
Fall  gently  on  her  pain. 
And  give  her  peace  and  take  away 
The  madness  from  her  brain  I" 

So  wept  the  trees,  so  sighed  the  grass, 

As  that  pale  form  went  by; 
But  the  weary  evening  let  her  pass, 

And  the  sun  sank  pitilessly. 

"Oh  heahng  ocean  of  darkness  deep, 

Your  cool  nepenthe  pour 
Over  her  sorrow;  give  her  sleep!" 

Cried  the  sea  to  the  silent  shore. 

But  the  night  looked  into  her  white  face 
And  read  such  things  written  there 

As  are  written  on  the  gulfs  of  space  — 
Emptiness  and  despair! 

And  the  night  was  helpless  and  could  not  stir; 

Then  I  arose 
And  watched  the  waves  of  nothingness  roll, 

I  who  was  nothing,  nothing  to  her! 

And  I  took  my  soul  and  crucified  it, 
Crucified  it  between  night  and  day. 

Then  at  last  she  knew  repose, 
And  her  madness  passed  away. 


THELANE  99 


THE  LANE 

No  one  can  take  away  from  me 
A  storm-swept  lane  I  once  wandered  through, 
Overhung  with  ivy  and  briony, 

And  heavy  with  holly  and  sombre  yew. 

The  wind  in  the  tree-tops  moaned  and  cried, 
And  'mid  ancient  stalks  of  faded  sedge. 

Wild  basil  drooped,  grew  palhd,  and  died; 
And  dying  marjoram  filled  the  hedge. 

In  long-drawn  gusts  from  the  down-land's  verge. 
The  cold  rain  sobbed  disconsolately; 

And  borne  on  the  wind  from  the  distant  surge, 
The  sound  of  the  sea  came  lamentably. 

Well  did  I  love  the  rain  in  my  face 

And  the  smell  of  the  leaf-mould  and  tangled  grass. 
And  the  flapping  wings  that  rose  from  the  place, 

As  flocks  of  starlings  heard  me  pass. 

And  again  and  again,  when  in  crowded  squares 
The  pulse  of  my  life  falls  low  and  sinks. 

Of  the  deep-drawn  breath  of  those  down-land    airs 
My  parched  and  harrowed  spirit  drinks. 

And  I  pray  to  the  gods  I  may  find  ere  I  die 
A  heart  that  shall  be  as  that  lane  to  me, 

With  wild-tossed  branches  and  windy  sky 
And  the  sound  of  the  everlasting  sea! 


100  CONDEMNED 


CONDEMNED 

DO  you  want  to  break  my  heart 
That  you  say  this  to  me, 
With  eyes  low-hdded  and  silent  Hps  — 
"This  is  the  place  of  love's  cchpse. 
Love  at  this  place  sinks  out  of  sight, 
As,  in  a  tideless,  fathomless  night, 

The  lead  sinks  in  the  sea." 
Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 
That  you  say  this  to  me? 

Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 

That  you  look  thus  at  me; 
Look  without  speech,  look  without  sign, 

Look  with  eyes  that  meet  not  mine; 
Look,  as  if,  beyond  my  face. 
You  looked  thro'  empty  gulfs  of  space 

Into  eternity? 
Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 

That  you  look  thus  at  me? 

Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 
That  you  let  your  head  fall  so; 

Fall  like  a  flower  with  petals  furled. 
Forgetting  life,  forgetting  the  world? 

Fall  on  my  shoulder  and  hide  it  there, 

Like  a  marble  thing  whose  cold  despair 
Has  no  more  tears  to  flow. 


CONDEMNED  lOI 

Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 
That  you  let  your  head  fall  so? 

Hush!     Let  us  pray  together! 

Though  we  have  deeply  sinned, 
If  on  the  wind  stirs  a  feather. 

If  a  leaf  stirs  on  the  wind, 
We  are  saved.     Oh,  far  apart! 

Nothing,  nothing  has  stirred. 
Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart 

That  you  will  not  speak  one  word? 


102  THE     ROSE-LEAVES 


THE  ROSE-LEAVES 

AS  long  as  the  roots  of  the  green,  green  grass 
Grow  cool  in  the  kindly  clay, 
The  rose-leaves  of  sorrow  will  fall  and  pass 
And  drift  on  the  wind  away. 

Oh,  rose-leaves,  rose-leaves  of  dehcate  sorrow! 

Oh,  rose-leaves  passionate! 
Over  the  grasses  of  tomorrow 

You  drift  on  the  wind  of  fate. 

Lightly,  lightly  you  fall  and  drift, 
Dehcate  rose-leaves  of  exquisite  pain; 

But  something  is  left  that  no  wind  can  hft. 
That  returns  again,  that  returns  again. 

Quivering  rose-leaves,  lighter  than  air, 

The  wind  may  carry  you  away; 
But  your  passionate  perfume  is  everywhere, 

The  pitiless  perfume  of  yesterday. 

And  tho'  the  roots  of  the  green,  green  grass 
Grow  cool  for  the  feet  of  tomorrow; 

And  tho'  on  the  wind  they  drift  and  pass. 
The  dehcate  rose-leaves  of  sorrow. 


THE     ROSE-LEAVES  IO3 

There  are  things  that  stay,  there  are  things  that 
stay, 

For  the  heart  to  feed  upon. 
Though  today  is  more  than  yesterday, 
And  the  grass  grows  green  in  the  kindly  clay. 
And  the  wind  has  carried  the  past  away, 

And  the  rose-leaves  of  sorrow  have  gone. 


104  THE     EXILE 


THE  EXILE 

EXILED  and  alone 
I  wander  over  the  land. 
Since  gleaming  under  the  sun 

I  saw  you  stand. 
In  your  passionate,  chlldhke  way. 

You  looked  at  me  and  the  old 
Niglit  fled  far  away. 
And  the  world  was  blue  and  gold. 

Blue  was  the  sky  above  me; 
Gold  was  the  earth  beneath, 
When  you  leapt  forth  to  love  me 

Like  a  sword  out  of  its  sheath! 
Would  I  had  poured  them  wine, 

The  high,  remorseless  powers! 
Would  I  had  covered  their  cruel  shrine 

With  holocausts  of  flowers! 
Then  perchance  they  had  held  their  hand 

Ere  they  turned  your  heart  to  stone, 
And  sent  me  wandering  over  the  land  — 

Exiled,  alone! 


MORTMAIN  105 


MORTMAIN 

GREY  and  ghostly  cypresses 
Meet  above  our  bed. 
That  is  surely  why  she  presses 
Close  to  me  her  head. 

Dead  are  we.     Be  quite  at  rest  I 

There  can  be  no  harm 
If  across  what  was  her  breast 

I  should  lay  my  arm. 

She  was  never  very  brave, 

And  these  damned  trees 
A  most  evil  whisper  have 

In  the  midnight  breeze. 

Close  she  clings  with  body  thin; 

She  was  always  slender; 
Do  you  hold  it  a  deep  sin, 

Buried,  to  be  tender? 

She  is  frightened,  she  would  say. 

But  her  hps  have  gone  — 
Curse  you!     Look  the  other  way. 

Read  our  burial-stone! 

What?    She  brought  me  to  this  pass? 

Brought  me  to  this  place? 
Oh,  it  may  be!     Turn  the  glass. 

She  had  a  lovely  face. 


I06  FIRST     AND     LAST 


FIRST  AND  LAST 

DAWN  broke  over  us  cool  and  sweet 
So  long  ago! 
■The  great  gods  walking  in  the  dew 

Made  a  path  for  our  feet; 
Gave  roses  to  me  and  lihes  to  you, 
And  with  reeds  of  the  river  rare  music  blew 
And  made  a  path  for  our  feet. 

But  the  hours  that  came  with  the  growing  Hght 

Drooped  as  if  they  were  years, 
And  in  faint  flute-music  from  far  away, 

The  gods,  departing,  turned  to  say, 
"Nothing  can  heal  the  heat  of  the  day 

Save  night  with  its  rain  of  tears." 

The  wind  may  carry  the  roses  away, 
But  the  human  heart  can  only  pray; 

Pray  to  the  gods  thro'  the  weary  years 

For  night  —  for  night  with  its  rain  of  tears. 


PIETY  107 


PIETY 

OH  liquid  moon  that  silvers  the  rims 
Of  the  mountain  heights, 
Oh  lotus-flower  that  floats  and  swims 

In  the  island  nights. 
Oh  pale  white  arms  that  are  stretched  to  me 

With  a  siren's  song, 
I  answer  the  spell  of  your  witchery; 
I  come!     I  come! 

Wait  but  awhile,  oh  white,  white  arms, 

Wait  but  awhile. 
I  feel  your  power  and  I  want  your  charms; 

I  need  your  guile. 
Let  me  but  plant  one  red,  red  rose 

On  my  true  Love's  tomb. 
Then  your  tide  shaH  bear  me  wherever  it  flows. 

I  come!     I  come! 


I08  EVASION 


EVASION 

HAD  I  loved  the  wind  In  its  flight, 
Or  the  storm-cloud  darkening  the  blue. 
Had  I  loved  the  meteor  crossing  the  night, 
I  had  held  it  closer  than  you! 

Had  I  followed  the  path  of  the  moon 
As  it  quivers  on  each  wave's  crest, 

I  had  touched  the  fount  of  its  hght  more  soon 
Than  the  outermost  veil  of  your  breast. 

Whirl  on,  whirl  on,  on  your  wayl 

I  can  wait,  my  sun-kissed  flower. 
At  the  bitter  end  of  your  burning  day, 
You  will  hang  your  head  and  the  gods  will  say, 

"She  is  his.     It  is  his  hour." 

No!     No!     Forgive  me,  dear  heart! 

Even  then  I'll  leave  you  free. 
The  long  pursuit,  the  cruel   smart. 

Shall  unavenged  be. 
Till  of  yourself  you  lift  your  lips. 

My  hour  shall  dwell  in  its  eclipse. 


THE     GODS  109 


THE  GODS 

LET  us  leave  them  all,  my  dear! 
Love,  for  you,  is  dead; 
Dead  and  buried  far  from  here, 
With  the  shadows  on  his  bier, 
Earth  upon  his  head. 

Let  us  leave  them  all,  my  child! 

Love,  for  me,  has  flown; 
Flown  and  vanished  in  the  wild, 
Reconciled,  unreconciled, 

Turning  to  his  own. 

Let  us  leave  them,  oh  my  friend! 

Shall  not  the  deep  night 

With  its  large  and  hquid  breath. 
Like  the  flowing  of  calm  death. 

Heal  our  memory  at  the  end 
And  make  ail  things  right? 

Put  the  burning  fierce  unrest 
From  your  brain  and  from  your  breast. 
Let  us  kiss  the  earth  and  rest. 

Ah!  perchance  if  we  lie  still  — 

Very  still  and  very  quiet 
With  our  pulses'  ancient  riot 

Hushed  and  silenced  by  our  will, 


no  THEGODS 


There  will  come  thro'  the  green  shadows, 
Thro'  the  eternal  leafy  shadows, 

Lingering,  pausing,  watching,  dreaming, 
Turning  all  our  pain  to  seeming; 

While  the  mole  of  memory  delves. 
The  immortal  gods  themselves! 


THEWATER  III 


THE  WATER 

WHERE  the  curlew  cries  all  night 
I  know  a  lonely  water, 
Tall  reeds  grow  there  and  they  bow  the  head 

As  at  the  passing  of  one  dead, 
Who  had  been  a  king's  daughter. 

And  a  low  faint  sobbing  goes  up  from  them 
Like  the  voice  of  the  grey,  cold  rain, 

That  drifts  without  pause  o'er  the  marshes  dim, 
Where  the  road  crosses  the  plain. 

And  I  gaze  with  a  vacant  eye. 

On  the  shadowy  weeds  that  float, 
With  their  arabesques  of  destiny 

Around  a  fairy  boat. 

And  I  start  and  shudder  with  fear, 

What  dead  went  by  this  water? 
Did  my  own  love  drift  by  me  here? 

Was  it  this  that  filled  me  with  ghastly  fear? 
Was  she  that  king's  dead  daughter? 

Oh  curlew  crying  again: 

Oh  reeds  that  sob  in  the  waters! 
They  are  human  tears  that  make  this  rain 

That  darkens  the  marshes  and  fills  the  plain. 
Our  loves  are  all  kings'  daughters! 


112  THEROSE 


THE  ROSE 

MY  heart  is  burnt  in  this  deadly  air, 
And  the  ashes  of  it  are  grey, 
But  the  red,  red  rose  you  planted  there 
Blooms  in  my  heart  ahvay. 

Out  of  grey  dust  and  bitter  pain. 

Its  soft  red  petals  blow; 
For  they  are  washed  by  morning  rain 

And  cooled  by  mountain  snow. 

You  planted  that  rose  and  went  your  way; 

And  though  long,  long  days  you're  gone, 
Out  of  the  dust  of  those  ashes  grey. 

Its  petals  still  bloom  on. 

They  are  fed  by  love;  and   the  love  they   need 

My  heart  can  furnish  well; 
For  the  heart  whose  love  has  tears  that  bleed 

Can  make  flow^ers  bloom  in  hell. 

They  are  fed  by  pain;   and  pain  can  draw 
Fresh  dew  from  a  dried-up  spring; 

For  the  pain  of  love  has  a  secret  law; 
Can  conquer  everything. 

With  that  red  rose  growing  in  ashes  grey, 

I  can  bear  what  fate  may  send; 
You  planted  it  and  went  your  way  — 

You  are  mine  now,  till  the  end! 


THE     WOOD  113 


THE  WOOD 

GOME  with  me  to  the  mossy  places. 
Where  the  rippling  amber  stream, 
Mirroring  our  shadowy  faces, 

Leads  us  on  from  dream  to  dream. 

Come  with  me  where  the  leaves  are  still; 

And  the  wood  is  hushed  Hke  a  grassy  hill, 
A  hill  of  silence,  whose  fleecy  sheep 

Are  the  clouds  of  sleep  —  the  clouds  of  sleep! 

Heavy  and  dark  are  the  rain-wet  ferns 

Drooping  over  the  rocky  pool  — 
See  how  the  steamlet  ebbs  and  turns 

Sprinkling  the  moss  with  its  ripples  cooll 

Ah!   The  wisdom  of  life  is  here; 

As  old  as  I,  as  young  as  you; 
ThriHing  both  of  us  thro'  and  thro'. 

Ah!   The  wisdom  of  Hfe  is  here! 

In  every  plant  and  in  every  sod, 
The  old  earth-wisdom  here  is  furled; 

Wisdom  older  than  any  god, 
Wisdom  older  than  the  world! 

There  are  whispers  here,  there  are  whispers  deep, 

Hid  in  these  places,  that  can  raise 
Memories  out  of  caverns  of  sleep, 

That  throw  strange  meanings  upon  our  days! 


114  THEWOOD 


Is  it  life,  is  it  life,  that  all  these  years. 
We've  been  living,  tasting,  and  calhng  good? 

Ah!   Your  eyes  are  full  of  tears! 
The  wood  has  caught  you,  the  magic  wood. 

Something  breaks  down  where  the  wood  begins; 

Something  breaks  down  in  this  hidden  spot! 
What  are  our  virtues?     What  are  our  sins? 

It  matters  not!     It  matters  not! 

Round  the  boulders  the  ripples  play. 

The  dead  trunks,  lying  the  stream  across, 
Catch  the  sun  in  a  lovelier  way 

Than  the  living  plants  or  the  living  moss. 

Death,  what  is  it?     What  do  we  care? 

It  is  strange.     It  is  magical.     It  is  well. 
Give  me  your  hand  —  tie  up  your  hair  — 

If  I  kissed  you,  the  wood-gods  would  not  tell! 


THE     BOOK  115 


THE  BOOK 

I  MOVED  from  the  sun-warmed  garden-seat, 
Where  the  damask-rose  petals   covered   the 
ground, 
And  all  the  people  with  quiet  feet 
Followed  the  mass-bell's  holy  sound. 

I  left  the  terrace;  I  wandered  away, 

Past  larkspur  and  lilies  and  monk's-hood  tall, 

To  where  the  lake  in  its  reed-bed  lay. 
On  the  sunset-side  of  the  castle  wall. 

With  a  thousand  years  in  its  human  sigh 

The  vesper  murmur  came  to  me 
Of  the  people's  patient  piety; 

Then  my  heart  stopped.     What  did  I  see? 

I  saw  her  —  I  saw  what  the  moonlit  spell 
Summoned  by  my  dark  heathen  book. 

Night  by  night  had  brought!    Too  well 
I  saw  her.    Too  well  I  knew  her  look. 

O  lost  one  —  lost  one  —  from  days  long  dead, 
When  love  gave  all  and  died  when  it  gave! 

O  head  thrown  back!     O  arms  outspread! 
O  passion  stronger  than  the  grave! 

When  the  people  returned  on  quiet  feet 
From  following  the  mass-bell's  holy  sound, 


Il6  SUPREME     UNCTION 


They  found  me  still  on  that  sun-warmed  seat, 
With  the  damask-rose     petals     strewn     on     the 
ground. 

But  they  did  not  know  that  their  voices  took 
A  tone  Hke  the  wind  in  a  sepulchre; 

They  did  not  know  that  a  heathen  book 
Had  made  me  a  monk  for  evermore! 


SUPREME  UNCTION 

OUT  of  the  eternal  night, 
Rumours  and  murmurs  infinite, 
Come  to  me  where  here  I  sit, 
Watching  in  silence  where  dead  love  lies, 
Pouring  balm  upon  his  closed  eyes, 
Anointing  him  with  memories. 
They  are  deep,  the  reservoirs  of  the  night! 
They  are  deep,  the  wells  of  the  infinite! 
And  who  can  say  but  love  may  stir 
While  I  pour  bahii,  while  I  pour  myrrh; 
And  rise  like  a  flame  and  wander  free 
Over  the  land,  over  the  sea. 
And  in  the  end  come  back  to  me? 


AQUESTION  117 


A  QUESTION 

WHAT  do  I  want  of  you?     You  fill 
The  air  about  me  with  dehght. 
A  power  stronger  than  my  will 

Draws  me  towards  you  day  and  night. 
And  yet  I  do  not  ask  to  press 
Even  your  hand  in  a  caress. 

Your  presence  vague  and  nebulous 
Moves  with  me  as  I  cross  the  street; 

Your  sweetness  Hke  an  angelus 

Makes  holy  ground  beneath  my  feet. 

In  every  lovely  form  I  pass 
You  shape  yourself  as  in  a  glass. 

What  do  I  want  of  you?     I  see 
Your  other  lovers  pine  to  drain 

The  passion  of  your  ecstasy 
In  kisses  desperate  as  rain, 

And  yet,  although  I  am  not  bhnd. 
Not  to  that  harbour  steers  my  mind. 

What  do  I  want  of  you?     God  knows! 

I  only  know  it  is  too  high, 
Too  rare  a  venture  to  disclose, 

Save  to  the  vast  and  starless  sky. 
Nothing  I  want,  yet  when  we  meet, 

I  think  the  world  hears  my  heart  beat. 


Il8  EUTHANASIA 


EUTHANASIA 

OUT  of  a  world  of  pain, 
In  a  trance  that  may  well  be  death, 
I  drift  on  a  barge  thro'  the  fields  again 

Wherein  I  first  drew  breath. 
And  the  river  cools  my  face 

And  the  river-scented  flowers. 
Water-mint  and  tall  loose-strife 

Bring  me  memories  deep  as  life 
From  all  my  vanished  hours, 

And  a  white  wraith-figure  of  you  — 
White  arms,  white  hands,  white  breast  — 

Drifts  by  my  side,  and  alone  we  two 
Drink  of  the  river  of  rest. 

And  the  wind  sighs  in  the  reeds  — 
Gently  —  a  little  wind  — 

And  lightly  and  sadly  the  gossamer-seeds 
Float  away  o'er  the  river-meads, 

Blown  by  that  little  wind. 
And  cool  airs  touch  our  faces 

And  your  wraith-like  hollow  eyes 
Grow  soft  with  the  leafy  places. 

And  the  low-breathed  reedy  sighs; 
And  on  and  on  we  drift. 

Where  the  cattle  stand  in  ranks, 
And  the  swallows  flit  and  skim 

Over  green  and  mossy  banks; 
Till  the  willows  droop  like  ghosts 

And  the  twilight  fifls  the  plain 


EUTHANASIA  II9 


And  the  rooks  in  solemn  hosts 

Gather  and  drift  like  rain. 
Then  at  last  I  feel  and  know 

That  all  my  memories 
As  they  wavered  and  flickered  in  endless  flow 

Were  premonitions  sent  long  ago 
Of  nothing  else  than  this! 

Than  that  I  with  you  by  my  side, 
Wraith-like  but  lovely  still, 

Should  follow  the  river  and  drift  and  glide, 
Past  forest  and  forest  —  past  hill  and  hill; 

Till  the  river  we  follow  grows  one  with  the  sea. 
Ah,  the  pain  again  —  it  will  never  be! 


120  AFAREWELL 


A   FAREWELL 

LIFT  not  your  head  before  you  turn  away! 
Let    not    your   eyes    grow    tender,    as    they 
grew 
Long  since  —  long  since!     Oh!    it  is   hard  to  say 

How  long,  so  cruel-fast  that  hour  flew! 
Go,  then,  and  take  away  with  you  the  Hght 

Laughter  of  all  the  leaves,  the  pleasant  stir 
Of  all  the  rain  faUing  on  all  the  flowers; 

You  cannot  take  away  with  you  the  night! 
That  you  must  leave  —  Love's  Holy  Sepulchre; 
Whereat  forlorn  hope  weeps  thro'  the  dead  hours. 

Go,  then,  and  take  with  you  the  tender  mist. 

That  all  these  days  has  floated  round  the  trees, 
And  gathered  in  the  glens  and  lightly  kissed 

The  willows  quivering  in  the    scarce- felt    breeze; 
Take  it  with  you  and  with  it  take  along 

The    vague    sweet    thoughts    that    into    it    I've 
poured. 
Glimpses  and  dreams,  such  as  the  gods  afl"ord. 

So  rarely,  that  to  earth  they  scarce  belong. 
Take  them  with  you!     They  are  far  better  gone 

Than  mirrored  in  my  heart,  as  on  a  stone. 

Go  quickly,  with  no  word,  if  you  must  go; 

Nay,  it  is  only  pity  in  your  eyes; 
Only  sweet  pity  —  and  too  well  I  know 

How  soon  that  little  mist  will  leave  its  skies! 


A     FAREWELL  121 

Go  quickly  —  for  I  would  not  cling  to  you 

With  any  desperate  ultimate  arrest, 
And  it  were  hard,  if  you  but  raised  your  hand 

Not  to  lose  all  my  pride  upon  your  breast. 
Then,  even  now,  the  sea  might  drown  the  sand. 

Go  quickly,  oh  my  friend  —  adieu!    adieu! 


122  THEGARDEN 


THE  GARDEN 

WHERE  the  wet  fields  stretch  away,  away, 
And  travellers  never  come, 
There  is  the  land  where  my  thoughts  stray 
And  the  house  I  call  my  home. 

No  house  had  ever  so  deep  a  moat, 

Or  such  tall  reeds  round  It,  and  no  man  ever 
Heard  such  lamentable  trees 

Whispering  In  the  fatal  breeze! 
Will  the  keel  of  that  strange  boat 

Lying  under  the  lilies  there, 
Lying  in  weeds  like  drowned  girl's  hair, 

Ever  rise  again  and  float? 
Never  did  the  wandering  wind 

Press  its  sad  invisible  face 
'Gainst  such  window-casements  blind! 

Never  did  the  night-hawk  chase 
Thro'  a  sultrier,  heavier  night 

Moths  so  ghostly  in  their  flight! 
Never  did  the  wild  swans  fly 

Over  such  roofs  of  mystery! 
But  do  you  think  it  is  only  of  these 

Desperate,  far-off,  piteous,  strange. 
That  I  dream,  when  you  see  my  memory  range? 

Do  you  think  it  is  only  of  these? 
No!    No!    dear  heart.  If  you  had  seen 

That  inner  garden  with  crumbling  wall, 


THEGARDEN  1 23 

That  garden  where  a  dying  queen 

Might  listen  all  night  to  a  ghost's  foot-fall, 
If  you  had  seen  that  old  parterre 

Of  roses  red  with  forbidden  passion 
You  would  know  too  well  why  I  wander  there, 

Too  well  why  my  dreams  are  out  of  fashion! 
Oh,  their  classic  skies  are  blue  and  white. 

But  grey  upon  grey  is  best; 
And  to  follow  the  rain  is  my  dehght 

And  the  wild  swans  in  their  long,  long  flight 
Into  the  night  —  into  the  night  — 

To  that  garden  of  the  West. 


124  MOMENTS 


NUNC  DIMITTIS 

I  AM  dying;  but  what  of  that? 
Your  hands  are  under  my  head, 
And  your  tears  are  on  my  cheek 
And  I  am  happy  at  last  — 
Bitter  has  been  the  pain! 
Yea  I  have  paid  the  price 
For  this  last  moment  with  you 
But  all  is  well  at  the  end; 
Your  hands  are  under  my  head, 
And  your  tears  are  on  my  cheek. 
So  you  love  me,  after  all! 
And  I  bless  the  eternal  dark 
Into  which  I  sink  and  fall 
That  I  've  found  you  —  at  the  last. 


MOMENTS 

OH,  there  are  moments  in  our  Hfe, 
When  the  dim  marshes  of  the  mind, 
Those  livid  swamps,  where  birds  of  strife 
Beat  up  against  a  sullen  wind. 

Sink,  drowned,  in  one  tremendous  flood, 
FuII-brimmed,  resistless,  like  the  sea. 

I  rose  and  praised  God  where  I  stood. 
When  such  a  moment  came  to  me! 


NOON  125 


NOON 

OVER  the  hills  and  far  away 
Are  shadowy  places  where  forests  deep 
Cover  with  everlasting  sleep 
Old  dethroned  gods  of  an  earher  day, 

And  sometimes  when  heavy  on  stone  and  sod, 
The  noon-tide  heat  lies  languid  and  dim, 

We  feel  the  passing  of  such  a  god, 
And  the  hushed  earth  yearning  to  welcome  him. 

Now  —  very  now  —  do  you  feel  it?  —  That  breath 

Falhng,  rising,  floating,  drifting? 
What  sudden  immortal  presence  is  this 

That  the  place  and  the  hour  witnesseth? 
It  rustles  the  reeds  of  the  meadow  rills; 

The  dreamy  July  grass  it  is  lifting. 
Ah!    You  are  pale.     Did  something  kiss 

Your  forehead  that  was  sweet  as  death? 
"Look  up  to  the  hills"  —  the  psalmist  saith  — 

Our  help  comes  from  beyond  the  hills! 

Oh  friend,  that  can  be  no  more  than  a  friend; 

As  you  and  others  and  all  decide. 
See  —  the  horizon  has  no  end! 

See  —  the  doors  of  the  world  stand  wide! 
They  are  wise,  wise,  gods,  —  I  know  it  well  — 
Wise  and  strong,  that  hold  us  apart; 

But  this  summer-noon  has  a  different  spell, 

Do  you  not  feel  it  in  your  heart? 


126  NOON 

From  over  the  hills  and  far  away 
There  has  come  some  old  forgotten  god, 

Some  old  dethroned,  unsceptered  god. 
Caring  nothing  for  their  wise  sway, 

And  has  joined  us  with  a  nod. 


LOST  127 


LOST 


THE  purple  waves  recede, 
The  wings  of  the  sunset  sink  — 
Sea-birds,  sea-foam,  sea-weed 

Are  lost  on  the  world's  brink. 
The  flowing  darkness  covers  the  deep 
And  I  weep  —  and  I  weep! 

Oh,  desperate  memory! 

Oh,  hopeless,  bitter  cry! 
She  is  dead  who  was  all  my  Ufe  to  me, 

And  the  wind  goes  heedless  by! 

Lost!   Lost!   Lost! 

She  can  never  hear  me  again! 
Under  the  tides  of  the  sea  she  is  tossed 

And  her  tangled  hair  drifts  round  her  head 
And  her  tender  eyehds  are  closed  and  dead. 

She  can  never  hear  me  again! 

Can  it  be  so? 

Can  such  things  be. 
As  the  things  that  have  been  between  her  and  me, 

And  the  waters  flow  on  eternally? 

Better  had  neither  of  us  been  born! 

Oh  darkness,  darkness,  do  not  stir, 
One  word,  only  one  word  with  her 

One  little  word,  before  the  dawn! 


128  OBSESSION 


OBSESSION 

OH,  take  away  those  haunting  eyes 
That  come  with  the  moonhght  still. 
When  the  heavy  clouds  forsake  the  skies, 
And  the  rain  goes  over  the  hill. 

Oh,  take  away  what  that  lovely  hand 

On  the  wild  sea-margin  writ. 
Let  the  wind  hide  it  in  the  sand 

And  the  sea  roll  over  it! 

Oh,  lost  one,  lost  one,  of  whom  I  dreamed! 

On  the  long  white  road  'twas  you 
Who  always  before  me  wavered  and  gleamed, 

Who  always  towards  me  turned  and  seemed 
The  heart's  desire  come  true. 

By  lonely  bridges  where  ancient  floods 

Flowed  towards  lands  unknown, 
'Twas  you,  O  child  of  a  thousand  moods, 

Who  waited  for  me  alone! 

But  now,  oh  now  that  you've  touched  me  and  fled 

The  long  white  roads  grow  cold; 
And  the  water  at  every  bridge's  head 

Flows  darker  than  of  old. 

Oh,  take  away  those  haunting  eyes 

That  come  with  the  moonlight  still. 
Let  the  heavy  clouds  cover  the  skies 

And  the  rain  cover  the  hill! 


EXILES  129 


EXILES 


E 


XILES  are  we  from  our  very  birth, 
But  strange  memorial  glimpses  come 
At  cross-roads  of  this  ahen  earth, 
To  trouble  us  with  our  true  home. 


A  grey  tree  by  a  forsaken  way, 

A  forest  pool  with  a  shadowy  face  — 

And  we  breathe  deep  a  moment  and  say, 
"This  is  the  place!   This  is  the  place!" 

What  place?     We  shall  never,  never  know! 

We  shall  die  before  our  feet  have  found  it. 
Yet  by  its  borders  all  streams  flow; 

And  there's  not  a  wind  but  blows  around  it! 

It  is  near,  yet  far  —  our  natural  home. 
That  an  evil  magic  has  hidden  aside; 

Leaving  only  tokens  of  it,  that  come 
To  tantalize  us  and  deride. 

Exiles  are  we  from  our  very  birth; 

And  we  shall  die  and  be  buried  far 
From  that  wilder,  lovelier,  madder  earth. 

Where  the  lost  gods  of  our  people  are! 


130  MEMORY 


MEMORY 

OH,  let  me  forget 
That  ever  the  air  was  sweet 
With  the  breath  of  your  flower-hke  ways, 
With  your  wistful,  heart-breaking  ways, 

And  the  music  of  your  feet. 
Oh,  let  me  forget 
That  ever  the  air  was  warm 
With  the  glow  of  your  youthful  hps, 
With  the  rich  soft  bloom  of  your  hps. 

And  the  magic  of  your  form! 

Forget  that  body  so  white 

And  that  hair  that  shpped  its  bands, 
And  the  eyehds  kissed  by  the  perfumed  night, 

And  the  pale  and  passionate  hands. 

Forget  —  forget  these  things! 

For  these  things  have  an  adder's  tooth; 
And  beauty  hke  a  scorpion  stings, 

And  cruel  —  ah,  cruel  is  youth! 

Let  me  feel  on  my  forehead  the  wind 
That  blows  from  the  classic  shore 

Where  the  wise  and  lonely  shadows  find 
Rest  and  need  love  no  more! 

No  more?     If  I'm  to  forget 
Your  ways,  your  looks,  your  tones. 


NOTHING  131 


There  must  be  no  flowers  by  Lethe  set, 
Or  only  scentless  ones! 

Ah,  God  —  the  scent  of  a  flower! 

All  else  the  flesh  can  endure. 
But  for  that  —  in  its  hour  —  in  its  hour  — 

There  is  no  cure. 


NOTHING 

WILL  my  love  come  to  me? 
Alas!   I  have  no  love. 
Though  in  green  and  rainy  places 
The  fronds  of  the  ferns  uncurl. 
And  violets  lift  their  faces 
To  a  crescent  moon  of  pearl. 

Will  my  love  come  to  me? 

Alas!   I  have  no  love. 
Far  off  —  somewhere  —  a  shining  head  — 
O  sweet  Lord  Christ  who  canst  raise  the  dead. 
Take  my  soul  and  give  me  my  love  instead! 

Will  my  love  come  to  me? 
Alas!   I  have  no  love. 


132  WHITENESS 


WHITENESS 

WHITE  roses  set  in  ivory  urns, 
White  violets  wreathed  in  silver  cups; 
White  marble  founts  whose  moss  and  ferns, 
The  shadow  of  the  moon  drink  up. 

Since  I  have  known  you  and  your  ways, 
Things  such  as  these  are  my  dehghts. 

A  whiteness  ghmmers  on  my  days, 
A  whiteness  hovers  o'er  my  nights. 

White  dews,  white  crescent  moons,  white  dawns. 
White  flickering  feet,  white-gleaming  hands. 

White  limbs  that  dream  on  twilight  lawns. 
White  limbs  that  dance  on  shimmering  sands. 

O  child,  O  maiden-acolyte. 

Whose  censer  breathes  such  silvery  breath. 
Pour  wine  white  as  the  flesh  of  Christ 

Upon  the  altar  of  white  death! 

Then  all  red  things  shall  fade  away  — 
Red  flame,  red  roses,  and  red  blood. 

And  we  shall  voyage  night  and  day 
The  white  sea  of  the  tears  of  God. 


SILENCE  133 


SILENCE 

MY  dear,  that  crying  in  the  heart, 
When  the  summer's  done, 
Hide  it  away,  hide  it  apart. 

That  none  can  hear  it,  none! 
If  the  wind  and  the  owl  and  the  cold  raindrops 

Heard  that  crying  that  never  stops, 
The  crying  of  the  daughters  of  men, 

They  too  would  be  silent  —  and  what  then? 

All  would  be  silent  then  again! 

Silent  the  bird  of  woe  — 
Silent  the  wind  —  silent  the  strain 

Of  the  rain-drops  dropping  slow. 
All  would  be  silent  and  with  one  sigh 

A  silent  world  would  float  on  the  sky. 
Worlds  such  as  these,  made  of  silent  tears, 

They  call  the  music  of  the  spheres! 


134 


FINIS 


FINIS 

SO  it  ends,  my  dream  of  loving! 
In  this  empty  house  I  sit, 
With  my  tired  spirit  proving 

All  the  cynics'  bitter  wit. 
Round  me  thro'  the  open  shutters 
Floats  the  heavy-scented  night; 
Not  a  leaf  or  grass-blade  flutters; 
Vapours  hide  the  moon  from  sight. 

Endless,  boundless,  high  above  me, 

Yawn  the  ghastly  gulfs  of  space. 
I'd  have  looked,  with  her  to  love  me. 

Those  abysses  in  the  face! 
All  illusion!     Well,  what  matter? 

Dim  the  lights  —  applaud  the  play! 
Fill  the  silence  with  our  chatter. 

Lay  the  fairy  masks  away. 

Oh,  deep  night!     My  invocation 

Is  to  you,  to  you  alone! 
Pour,  pour  down  your  consecration, 

Though  the  dream  of  love  has  flown. 
Large-enfolding  night,  receive  me! 

Drown  the  treacherous  siren-songs. 
Ah!   the  love  that  will  not  leave  me, 

Night,  to  you  alone  belongs. 


THE     GRAVE  I35 


THE  GRAVE 

WHAT  are  you  thinking  when  so  you  look, 
Holding  my  hand  with  cold,  cold  fingers, 
As  we  watch  this  babbling  summer  brook 

Where  the  virginal  flush  of  spring  still  lingers?' 

"Your  eyes  are  vacant.    They  stare  and  stare. 

They  seem  not  to  see  these  blossoms  white 
That  drink  the  sun  and  perfume  the  air. 

They  stare  like  a  dead  man's  into  the  night." 

"  I  think  of  a  white  road  crossing  a  hill, 
And  a  ruined  church  where  no  man  passes, 

And  a  tombstone  lying  hushed  and  still 

And  a  north  wind  whispering  thro'  the  grasses. 

"Is  my  body  not  warm  to  your  touch. 
That  you  hold  me  so  quietly  on  your  knees? 

Look  how  the  sunlight  falls  thro'  the  trees! 
Is  love  dead  so  soon?     Is  it  always  such?" 

"The  white  road  crosses  the  barren  hill; 

No  blossoms  are  there,  no  bodies  warm; 
Only  a  tombstone,  very  still. 

And  one  beneath  it,  a  shrouded  form." 

"Had  she  lips  that  were  warm  like  mine? 

When  I  am  dead  a  thousand  lovers 
Will  kiss  the  earth  my  body  covers; 

And  the  splendid  sun  on  my  dust  will  shine. 


136  THEGRAVE 

"Far,  you  say,  is  that  ruined  place? 

No  man  walks  on  that  lonely  road? 
Was  it  so  beautiful,  then,  that  face 

That  is  mingled  now  with  the  heavy  mould?" 

"No!    No!    Not  beautiful  at  all! 

Withered  and  wasted  —  what  you  will! 
And  the  north  wind  blows  thro'  that  ruined  wall. 

And  no  man  ever  crosses  that  hill! 

"Yes,  your  thousand  lovers  will  come. 

I  believe  it!     And  till  the  sea 
Drown  in  its  flood  her  grassy  tomb 

She  will  unremembered  be!" 


THE     RETURN  I37 


THE  RETURN 

WHAT  can  I  give  to  you 
Who  have  given  me  everything? 
Can  I  rob  the  sky  of  its  blue? 

Can  I  take  the  green  from  the  spring? 
Can  I  catch  the  dew  as  it  falls? 

Can  I  reach  the  fount  of  the  rain? 
Can  I  snare  the  foam  of  the  waterfalls 

And  their  rain-bow  mist  retain? 
Can  I  enter  the  tombs  of  kings 

And  their  cerements  unbind? 
Can  I  steal  the  Tetrarch's  rings 

And  Salome's  pearls  unwind? 
Will  Helen  of  Troy  give  up 

The  bracelets  from  her  wrist; 
Or  Iseult  restore  the  cup 

That  Tristram  drained  and  kissed? 
They  are  gone  —  they  are  gone,  all  these  — 

And  their  names,  hke  a  small  faint  rain, 
Drift  by  without  surcease 

Across  time's  grievous  plain. 
Oh,  lonely  and  classic  face, 

My  harbour  and  heathen  heaven, 
Can  I  find  nothing  to  replace 

All  that  to  me  you've  given? 
Let  these  dim  shades  depart 
And  their  sad  faint  ghosts  go  hence. 
Out  of  my  heart  —  my  heart  — 

I  will  give  you  your  recompense! 


138  T  H  E     S  H  I  P 


THE  SHIP 

I  MADE  a  ship  of  my  cruelty, 
A  wonderful,  terrible  ship. 
With  masts  of  silver  and  ebony, 
And  bulwarks  of  carven  ivory. 
And  a  figure-head  of  chalcedony, 
And  a  prow  like  a  hon's  lip. 

And  I  sat  In  the  stern  of  my  ship, 

Alone,  be  it  said  and  known. 
You  are  always  alone  in  that  kind  of  ship, 

Put  your  finger  upon  your  hp! 
Christ's  mother,  how  deep  alone! 

And  in  my  ship  I  sailed; 

And  the  waters  were  purple  and  green; 
And  all  day  long  the  sea-gulls  wailed 

And  the  sun  went  down  and  the  waters  paled 
And  a  phantom-moon  was  seen. 

And  under  the  moon  I  still  sailed  on; 

But  not  only  the  moon  was  there! 
Algol,  the  Demon's  Eye,  looked  down  — • 

Algol,  the  Eye  of  the  Demon,  shone, 
Thro'  the  chill  and  frozen  air. 

Oh  ship,  my  ship,  called  Cruelty! 
Is  it  forgotten  then  of  thee 


THE     SHIP  139 


How  we  came  in  the  hour  of  dawn 
To  a  land  where  silence  covered  the  sea, 

To  a  harbour  of  virginal  mystery 
And  a  little  pier  forlorn? 

For  the  people  fled  away 
When  they  saw  my  terrible  ship, 

Livid,  phantom-Hke  and  grey, 
Led  by  Algol,  at  break  of  day. 

Into  that  harbour  shp! 

But  one  fled  not.    One  stood 

On  the  edge  of  the  Httle  pier, 
A  boy  —  a  boy  in  his  soHtude! 

A  girl  —  a  girl  in  her  fear! 

No  boy  —  no  girl;  a  god,  a  god! 

And  I  hoisted  the  sails  of  my  ship; 
And  Cruelty,  with  Love  on  board, 

—  Your  finger  on  your  hp! 
Went  sailing,  saihng  over  the  sea 

Till  the  sun  grew  hke  the  moon; 
Till  the  moon  —  oh,  mother  of  mystery! 

Till  the  moon  grew  like  the  sun. 

And  Algol,  the  Demon's  Eye,  looked  down 

Upon  that  curious  ship; 
Algol,  the  Eye  of  the  Demon,  shone  — 

Your  finger  on  your  lip! 
But  Love  and  I  played  a  deeper  game 

Than  any  Demons  know, 


140  THE     SHIP 


And  my  ship,  my  ship  without  a  name, 

On  the  purple  sea  a  silver  flame. 
From  Earth  to  Heaven  did  go. 

O  Prince  1    make  of  your  cruelty 

A  ship  and  not  a  sword. 
Give  it  masts  of  silver  and  ebony! 

Give  it  bulwarks  of  carven  ivory, 
And  a  figure-head  of  chalcedony; 

And  take  on  board  a  god! 


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